


Bad Moon Rising

by spacebuck



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU - Modern fantasy, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Canon-Typical Violence, Consent is Sexy, Dreamsharing, Kidnapping, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Role Reversal, Werewolf Bucky Barnes, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Witch Steve Rogers, Witch!Steve, brief soldier!steve, canon-level descriptions of violence, dreamsex, handwavey lawyering, more plot-specific tags to be added, not a/b/o, nothing overly graphic but it's there, or as close as you get in an au, soooo much pining, were!nat, werewolf!Bucky, witch!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:23:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 57,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebuck/pseuds/spacebuck
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a lot of things:- a nurse- the owner of a dorky dog that's too big for his own good- a lot older than he looks (by a lot more than you’d guess)- one of the last born-werewolves of his generation (namely due to point number one)He's also one of the most powerful werewolves in New York City, not that he uses that power for more than keeping up with his work and playing with his dog.But, when the once-in-two-hundred-years lunar event known to wolves as the Triple Moon comes along, Bucky's more than a little peeved to get to Central Park to find cloud cover blocking the majority of the power the moon is supposed to be giving him.And then he finds an unconscious man in a clearing.He doesn't connect the two, though in retrospect he should have - witches are sneakier than they appear.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is something i've been sitting on since i missed the triple moon way back in january 2018 due to cloud cover. the idea sat in my head for about two months, i wrote a post, and it quickly took on a life of it's own, becoming my nanowrimo project for 2018.
> 
> with nano wrapping up on track for a win, it's time to get this show on the road!
> 
> this _is_ a wip, but i've got almost 50k written out, so i'll be doing my best to keep up as i post a chapter every week or so. i'm hoping that a positive response here will help me keep up the momentum for this and a few other projects i need to finish this side of christmas!
> 
> i will add tags as i go, mostly the nsfw ones as those chapters come up, but all of the most-likely-to-trigger ones are up there already

There’s power in the air, crackling, warping everything it touches. Bucky Barnes is no different.

The moon calls to him, stringing him out, and he bounces his knee. There’s no escaping it, it’s in everything he touches, in every word he hears.

He stands with a jerk, hand clenched on his bag strap, and walks across to the door of the subway train. The people around him shift out of his way, mostly unconsciously, but he sees the look one woman is giving him as he inches away. Taking a breath, he straightens his spine, drops his chin, and swings his bag onto his back.

The train slows, rattles its way to a stop as the voice over the intercom, announcing the stop in a monotone voice.

Bucky pushes his way out of the subway as soon as the doors creak their way open, all but jogging his way up the steps and through the turnstiles into the slush. Even though he runs hot he shivers, hands tucking into the pockets of his coat. He didn’t bring gloves, never does, kind of regrets it as he’s stuck without his phone for the admittedly short walk home.

By the time he makes it to his apartment door, the sun has almost fully set and his hair is prickling on his arms. There’s tension building under his skin, and he glances up at the clear night sky above him. Hopefully, he thinks, it stays that way.

Eight flights up and he’s at the top of his building, making his way down the hall as he shakes flakes of snow out of his hair. It’s persistent, makes him pause in his quest to get his keys out of his pocket to brush it off the strands. Once his hair is back to its normal brown he unlocks the apartment door, pushes it open slowly.

A big shape comes barrelling through the door as soon as it’s open far enough, and Bucky has to drop his keys to grab the collar flashing past him. “Hey,” he says sharply, and it comes out almost a growl. “Quit it. Inside.”

The dog sits, stares up at him with an expression he can only describe as doting. Bucky sighs, uses his other hand to stroke a finger up the dog’s nose, between his eyes, then scratches behind his ears. “Winter,” he tries again. “Inside.”

Winter finally gives in, standing and heading back into the depths of his apartment as Bucky slides his fingers out of the leather collar. Grabbing his keys, Bucky follows, shaking his head. By the time he’s made it to the kitchen Winter’s sprawled himself out on the couch, big legs hanging over the end. Bucky shakes his head, checks the food bowl, then heads to his room.

As soon as the door’s closed behind him he’s stripping down, relaxing more and more as the cloth leaves his skin. He has to put a hoodie back on, pull on some sweats, but he’s got them three sizes too big for a reason. He leaves his phone on the charger, grabs a soft fabric bag, and makes his way back through his apartment to the front door. Winter whines from his spot on the couch and Bucky makes a noise in the back of his throat, coming from deep in his gut.

The dog stills then goes back to his nap.

A second later and Bucky’s got the loose key tucked in his pocket, then he’s heading back out the door and into the winter cold.

He shivers once, a violent shake as he exits the building, but then his other side kicks in. It feels like fur brushing over his skin, but under his skin, bone-deep yet so close to the surface. He keeps his head down, crosses the road quickly, and heads down an alley he’s walked hundreds of times before.

It takes a few minutes until he can see green, lush trees rising over the edges of cool concrete and steel. He picks up the pace until he’s nearly running, the magic from before back in force, pushing him down a path that’s as familiar as breathing.

As soon as he’s under the cover of the trees Bucky stops pulls his bag out of his pocket and shoves his key in there. His hoodie follows, goosebumps spreading up his arms as the flecks of snow falls from the leaves above him. They’re not due for a fresh drop until near dawn, and hopefully it stays clear until then.

His shoes and socks follow, then his pants, and he straightens, naked as the day he was born. It always feels strange, doing this in the centre of the city, but there are laws in place that protect him, protect people like him. He still feels the shock of adrenaline as a car drives past, close enough to hear but not to see.

Bucky stops fucking around and ties his bag closed, then stows it in the nearest tree. He flicks out a hand, fingers already warping, and scores the bark of the tree with sharp claws. Claim made, he steps back, tips his head up to the sky, and lets the magic overtake him.

It’s fire in the icy evening, burning through him in a way that’s never normal, never easy, no matter how often it happens. He closes his eyes, pain burning out any other thought until he’s on four legs, paws hitting the snow heavily.

A long stretch out, chest nearly brushing the ground as he pulls back, then Bucky shakes each leg one by one. He rocks his head side to side, yawns with a crack of his jaw, then turns his head away from the city, towards the limited wilderness.

A werewolf had always been in Central Park and this night of the Triple Moon was no different.

**

The night is easy, even though it’s cold. Bucky’s a few minutes into his run when the sun fully disappears, the moon finally shining strong in the dark.

It’s bigger than normal, everything adding together to create the perfect conditions for someone like him. It’s better than a normal moon, more powerful, and it feeds Bucky’s own magic. He can feel it calling to him and he stops, lifts his head, and howls.

It’s low, almost mournful, echoing through the trees, and the night goes still.

Almost inaudible, a gasp, just as Bucky lowers his head. He takes a deep breath, letting the scents sit on his tongue before breathing out again. There’re no other wolves near him, so he lowers himself close to the ground, scents again, more focused on sifting through the scents that are there rather than looking for one he knows.

The snap of ozone, and a crackle. The pulse of magic. A tang – human. Bucky pulls himself across the ground, keeping himself low enough that his stomach brushes the snowpack-come-slush. A wind blows through, and something inside Bucky slumps, strings cut.

He gasps, shudder running through him, and looks up, eyes wide. Clouds are rolling across the sky, starting in the east and spreading, cutting off his view of the moon.

Bucky straightens, lifts his head. Another howl, more panicked, brain of the beast inside him taking over until the logic wins out.

He shuts up with a snap of his teeth, turns his head in the direction of the ozone-scent, and starts to run.

The smell gets stronger as he approaches, the stench of witch burning his nose. There’s a thought burrowing into his mind in an unfamiliar voice, trying to coax him into leaving, turning away, going home.

He pushes through, eyes narrowing, and bursts into a clearing just as the magic stops. Just, stops, sharp and without warning. Bucky skids to a stop, sliding a few feet into the clearing and assesses the scene in front of him. A circle drawn in the snow, just under a foot in front of Bucky’s nose. Broken, likely why the magic fell apart. Footprints in the sludge, unclear but present, like a few people had been walking around.

And a man lying in the middle.

The circle’s already broken, so Bucky takes a breath and steps over it. There’s the tiniest flicker of magic as he passes, the remnants of a ward, but it can’t do much to keep him out without the feed from the witch that created it. He crouches next to the man, watching for any hint of movement, but he lies still. There's a crackling sort of energy to him, making Bucky's hair stand on end, and he bites his lip, hesitating a moment before reaching out, carefully rolling the man onto his back with a firm shove of his head. He’s gorgeous, in the 'unconscious stranger in a park' way, and Bucky's eyes keep flicking back to his face as he quickly checks him over for any obvious injuries. Bucky touches his nose lightly to the man’s coat – far too thin for the weather – and takes a deep breath.

Ozone nearly makes him cough, the sharp tang bringing tears to his eyes, but it’s fading fast, rapidly leaving the air, like the witch is long gone. Bucky shakes himself and lets his pelt fall away as he does. Bare knees hitting the snow, Bucky reaches out with actual hands and pushes the scarf away from the unconscious man’s skin. Seeking fingers find a pulse, strong and steady, and he breathes a sigh of relief. He sends his limited magic out, sinking into the man’s skin and seeking out injuries.

There’s nothing, which makes Bucky frown, tries again.

Still nothing.

His clothes are dirty, but whole, undamaged by any sort of transformation, but he smells like _change_ and _run_ and _wild_ and Bucky's instincts are demanding that he take his packmate to safety, help him through what was probably his first turn. A turn that left him at the mercy of a witch, no less.

Bucky sits back on his haunches, glaring at the man in front of him, then does something he rarely does and lets the beast inside him make a decision.

 _Home_. _Safe_.

The logical part of Bucky's brain is telling him he's going to regret his actions, but the rest of Bucky's brain doesn't seem to care.

It takes time for Bucky to find his way back to his clothing cache with an unconscious person draped over his shoulders, but he manages.

The moon, the rare triple moon, still burns power into him, shoves it in even if he hadn’t wanted it, filling him to the brim with slow pulses. It keeps him warm, his body burning through the chill more than it had been earlier. He pulls his clothes on anyway, the man resting against his claimed tree, then pulls him back up into a fireman’s carry and heads for his apartment.

**

It’s nights like this when he’s glad he can afford to live so close.

Even with the added weight it only takes him an extra five minutes to make it home, and he gets the man tucked up in the spare room to warm up before attending to his dog. Winter seems to know that he needs to be quiet, only makes a series of chuffing noises before licking Bucky’s face. Bucky strips back down in the safety of his bedroom then goes to curl up in the patch of moonlight on his living room floor.

It’s not the same, not really. Nothing lives up to running under the moon, even with the clouds in the sky, but he can feel himself recharging as the minutes pass. By the time he hears movement in the spare room he’s managed to sprawl himself out on the floor, all but upside down as his tongue lolls out of his mouth.

The movement snaps him out of his moon-drunk stupor and he jerks himself upright. The shift rolls through him, familiar and painful, and he ducks into his room to put clothes on. A quick stop in the kitchen for a bottle of water, then he’s tapping his knuckles on the door, slowly pushing it open as Winter appears at his heels.

The unconscious man is no longer unconscious, pushing himself up on one forearm and blinking at the world around him.

Bucky leans against the doorframe as the man takes in his surroundings, lets himself actually _look_ at him while he does. The man’s haggard, dark circles upon dark circles, but still manages to be handsome. His short hair is standing on end, dark honey-blond and his eyes are light, though Bucky can’t tell exactly what colour in the dark room despite the wolf senses.

There’s a soft noise, strangled and cut to pieces, and Bucky refocuses again, taking in the man as a whole rather than just the small parts of him. “You’re okay,” he says, keeping his voice soft as panic-scent fills the room, bitter and acidic. “You’re safe.”

“Where- Who- What-” The man stutters and Bucky can’t help but snort.

“Why and how, right?” He cuts in, and the man stares at him blankly. “The five...? No, never mind. Here.” He takes the few steps to the edge of the bed, holds out the cold bottle. “Still capped, if you’re worried. I just wanted you out of the snow. Promise I’m not a serial killer or something.”

The man looks at him, takes the bottle, and twists the cap with a jerk of his hand. The crack is loud, the seal breaking, and relief flickers across the man’s features before he takes a sip.

“Drink it slow. I couldn’t work out why you were passed out, so any insight you have I’d appreciate.”

The man freezes. “You don’t?” he says slowly, voice cracking on the second word. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Why?” Bucky responds. “Why should I?” He racks his brain for any memory of a high-profile turn, draws a blank.

“You took a strange man home?” His voice is stronger now, confident. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Bucky shrugged. “You were passed out in central park,” he retorts, “isn’t that dangerous?”

The man stares. Then a laugh slips out, and he looks surprised at himself before he keeps laughing like it’s getting away from him, like he can’t stop.

Bucky perches on the edge of the bed, waits him out.

Eventually, the laughter dies out and Bucky nods to the bottle of water again. “Introductions, I guess? My name is Bucky Barnes, I’m a nurse, and I found you passed out in the snow in Central Park. Against my better judgement, I brought you home because you didn’t look like you were actually injured. That-” Winter barks from where he’s waiting oh-so-patiently by the door, “-is Winter. He’s a big softie, even though he looks like a small bear.”

Winter barks again like he’s proud of himself.

The man looks over at the door, visibly blanches, then takes a sip of the water. “Um.” He starts, stops. Bucky bites back a smile.

“Steve,” the man gets out a second later. “Steve Rogers. Sorry is he actually that big or am I seeing things?”

“Cap your drink,” Bucky says, then as soon as the drink is secure, he whistles once. Winter bounds over, jumping onto the bed easily and licking Steve’s face.

“Holy shit” is the muffled voice under all the fluff, and Bucky pats the bed by his hip. Winter finally lets Steve up, curling up at Steve’s feet and looking up at them mournfully. Bucky hummed quietly, looking Steve over for a second.

“So,” he starts. “Care to shed any light on your state when I found you?”

Steve hesitates and pulls his lower lip through his teeth. Bucky finds his eyes drawn to the curve of it, the pinch of teeth, and drags himself away with a mental _down, boy_. “I’m. I had an assignment,” he starts, and Bucky shoves that into the face of his libido – _see, just a college boy, far too young_ – until Steve clarifies. “From my boss, I’m an intern over at City Hall.”

And _oh_ , but that’s worse. He’s got an aspiring politician in his house when the local government is doing their best to destroy everything’s worked for. _Werewolves are the most dangerous part of our society_ says the voice in the back of his head, sounding a hell of a lot like their Mayor. He clenches his jaw, teeth grinding together for a second before he lets out a breath on a sigh. That doesn’t mean this man – Steve – isn’t a wolf, but it’s looking less likely by the second. He doesn’t even smell like one anymore, just smells like clean linen and _Bucky_. His wolf preens at that realisation. It’s been a long time since someone’s smelled like him this fast. “I suppose you can’t tell me what that is,” he says instead of giving voice to his rambling thoughts.

Steve nods. “Yeah. I can’t. But, can you tell me… was it raining when you found me? Or snowing?”

An odd question. Bucky shakes his head a little, tries not to let the crestfallen look on Steve’s face get to him. “No, not actively. Lots of clouds though, and it did snow a little overnight.”

There’s silence between them for a second, and then Steve breathes out, “Fuck,” and the shitty part of Bucky’s brain pipes up with _yes, please!_

Then, “Wait did you say overnight?” Wide eyes meet Bucky’s and he nods tentatively, not sure what Steve is wanting to hear.

“Yep. It’s-” he checks his watch, “- just gone six in the morning.”

“Fuck!” Steve says louder before he goes quiet as Winter growls a little from his spot at the end of the bed.

Bucky places a hand on the dog’s back and Winter settles again, long enough for him to say, “What’s wrong?”

“My boss, he was expecting me to call last night. He already knows I failed, but then me not checking in?” Steve’s breath comes out shaky. “God, I’m in deep shit.”

Eyebrows inching up, Bucky asks, “He’s not going to be relieved you’re okay?”

“Probably not,” Steve says with a shrug. “More important to him is the fact that I didn’t complete my assignment. He’s going to be _pissed_.” He scrambles upright, sways, then gets his feet out of the bed and stands.

Tries to, at least. Bucky jumps up, catching Steve’s arms as he pitches sideways, guides him back to the bed. “You’re in no state to be going anywhere,” he says as Steve stares at his own legs in surprise. “Call in sick. Stay here until you can walk to the door on your own, however long that takes.” His eyebrows flick up as Steve’s pull down. “I have today and tomorrow off, I just rotated out for the week. I’m not even on call.”

“You’d spend your entire break looking after another person?” Steve asks, a touch of incredulity in his voice. “Bullshit.”

Bucky straightens, whistles a sharp note. Winter jumps off the bed with a sulky look Bucky’s way. “What do you expect me to do, turf you out? I’m a _nurse_.” He walks to the door, feels the air shift behind him as Steve goes to speak, fails to get any words out. He grabs Steve’s jacket from its spot on the door handle, brings it back. “I’m assuming your phone is in there.”

Steve looks at the jacket then nods numbly. “I’ll call in,” he said after a second of staring at it, before shooting Bucky a smile that looks as cautious as Steve’s words sounded.

“Good,” he says. “Finish your water, try to sleep some more. I’m going for a run.” He pauses as he walks back to the door, then says, “I’ll make something for breakfast when I’m back.” He glances over at Steve, catches the tail end of a nod, then he tips his chin at the door and follows the dog out.

As soon as the door closes behind him Bucky’s leaning on it, scrubbing his hands over his face. The plates on his left palm catch at the hair on his jaw, pulling at the scruff and he scowls. He can pick up Steve’s voice on the other side, talking into the phone and sounding nothing like he had during their short conversation. He sounds stilted, meek, voice low enough that Bucky almost can’t make out the words he’s saying.

“I got cloud cover, isn’t that enough? I know it wasn’t what we agreed, but-” A pause, like he’s been cut off. “Yes, sir. Yes, I understand. Yes. I’ll call.”

There’s the sound of the phone call ending, and Steve’s shaky breathing. Bucky wants to go back in, to reassure him and find out who was hurting him, but he tamps down that instinct and heads for his room. He’s dressed for a run within a few minutes, sweats swapped out for his compression pants and shorts, exercise shirt covered in three layers of sweater to keep out the cold.

A pause, then he grabs a pen, scrawls a note on the back of a bill and leaves it on the bench before grabbing Winter’s leash. The dog’s prancing on the spot by the door so Bucky can’t _not_ take him, and hopefully Steve sees his note before he starts to panic about the missing dog. He tucks his keys and doggy bags in his pocket, then heads out of the apartment into the crisp morning.

Winter keeps up even when Bucky lets his other side take over, pushing him harder and faster than he’d usually go. He didn’t get to run properly last night, he tells himself, so it makes sense that his beast wants to let go. Luckily there are few people around, and the transport people had already been past and salted the sidewalk.

He gets three-quarters into his run before his brain turns off fully, the thoughts finally leaving him alone. Winter seems to notice the change, barking once from Bucky’s side before continuing to keep pace.

He does his usual route twice before he feels like he’s got a grip on himself, slowing to a walk a block before his building. He’s breathing heavily and so is Winter, the dog well deserving of his nap now. He takes the stairs up, one final push, then lets himself into his apartment and drops the leash. He leans back against the front door as it closes, head falling back as he fights to regulate his breathing again and doesn’t process the strangled cough from deeper in the apartment for a good few seconds.

When it finally sinks in he drops his chin, straightening up and getting himself ready to do… something when he sees Steve sitting at his dining table with Winter’s head in his lap. “Oh,” he says, clenching his hands so the points of his claws bite into his palms, hidden from view. “Sorry, not used to having someone else here.”

Steve’s eyes are wide as he nods, so Bucky drops his head, unzips the top two layers and pulls at the third to get some airflow as he walks back through his apartment to his room. Winter, the traitor, stays with Steve so Bucky leaves his door cracked open just in case, grabbing a change of clothes before making his way to the bathroom, and the shower within.

He takes his time washing his hair like usual, so a good fifteen minutes has passed by the time he makes his way back into the kitchen. He pulls his hair up into a ponytail as he comes into the living area, smiling a little at Steve, who’s cooing at Winter and scratching his ears.

He checks Winter’s bowls are full of water and kibble, then looks in his fridge for inspiration.

It doesn’t take him long to get eggs cracked in a bowl, and he looks at Steve over the island bench as he stirs. “Is there anything you can’t eat?” He asks, and Steve startles, jumping in his chair a fraction.

“Uh,” Steve says helpfully. “I can’t eat blueberries, bananas or avocado. Other than that, I’m good.”

“So like, half of my fruits?” Bucky says, surprising himself with the teasing note to his voice. “S’cool, I can work with that,” he adds when Steve looks guilty. “You can’t help your allergies.”

Steve still looks guilty, so Bucky rolls his eyes and turns back to the fridge, setting the bowl of beaten egg to the side. He pulls out a handful of veggies from his crisp drawer, holds them up for Steve to see. “These all good?” He asks, and when Steve nods wordlessly he gets them all to the chopping board.

He works in silence until he hears the sound of shambling footsteps, and when he glances up Steve’s leaning heavily against the island bench, legs looking more than a little shaky.

“Jeez,” Bucky says, wiping his hands on his pants before grabbing one of the dining chairs and setting it in the kitchen. “If you’re going to be nosy, sit. I don’t want to clean you up off my kitchen floor,” he grumbles but Steve sits heavily and gives him a smile so Bucky can’t really stay even mildly annoyed.

“Make yourself useful,” he says after a second and shoves a bowl and fork in Steve’s direction. “Whisk.” He falls silent again as he dices everything, finishing up with the mushrooms just as Steve sets the bowl back on the counter. “Want everything?” he asks next with a gesture at the chopping board. At Steve’s nod, he splits everything evenly and throws them into the two bowls before moving to the stovetop.

“You don’t have any medication you should have taken, do you?” Bucky asks after another minute of silence, the first omelette cooking nicely. “It’s not making it worse with you being here?”

When Steve blinks at him, clearly confused, Bucky waves a hand at Steve, encompassing the chair. “The weakness, the passing out.”

“Oh,” Steve says, then continues as if his words aren’t punching a hole somewhere in Bucky’s gut. “Magical exhaustion. I’ve had it before, I just pushed myself too far. I’ll bounce back in a couple of days, and probably be out of your hair by this evening.” Steve pauses as if taking in Bucky’s expression, and Bucky pulls everything back inside him, masking his face with a polite smile.

It all makes sense, and Bucky’s not sure how he missed it earlier. Witches have come into the hospital he works at with ME before, exhausted to the point where they couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink. It wasn’t hard to look after them, a drip overnight and they were on their way, but Bucky had completely missed it on Steve, had completely refused to consider that the man lying in a witches circle had been the witch himself.

“Is there anything that helps you?” He asks instead of flipping his shit, which he thinks is a decent accomplishment. Each witch reacts to it differently, every witch has different levels of exhaustion. He’s only ever seen the worst, so he’s got the basics to call on and that’s about it.

Steve shakes his head, though. “Not really. Rest, keeping hydrated. The usual.” Bucky nods, shuts his yap, and goes back to cooking.

It doesn’t take long to finish, and Bucky gives the first one to Steve before starting his own. “Don’t wait for me,” he says as Steve doesn’t touch his plate. “Eat before you pass out again.”

Steve grumbles but does.

It’s easy to forget in the silence between them, easy to think Steve’s just a normal guy, and Bucky lets his mind drift a little. Anyone else and Bucky would test the waters, drop a few hints and see if Steve responds. Though, subtlety hasn’t been his style since the late-1800s so it’d be more like him stepping in real close, waiting for Steve to move the plate in his lap and taking its place. If he didn’t get shoved off, he’d lean in real close and if Steve reacts well, give him something like a _what, no kiss for the cook?_

But Steve’s not a normal guy.

Steve’s a witch, and Bucky’s a werewolf, and that only ever works in fairy tales.

So Bucky keeps his yap shut, flips his omelette before dumping it on his own plate, glancing over at Steve only to catch him watching. He raises an eyebrow and Steve’s cheeks dust over with pink.

Bucky pulls his lower lip between his teeth, barely registering that he’s doing it, and grabs a fork for himself, shoving food in his mouth before he can say something that went against his keep-it-in-the-pants plan.

He manages to not stare at Steve the whole time, looking at his plate and letting his head hang for a second as soon as he’s polished it clean, scraped all the cheese off the ceramic and everything.

“You should go back to bed,” Bucky says into the silence, as comfortable as it feels. “If rest helps, you should get as much as you can, right?” He drums his fingers against the bench, and Steve nods, bitter twist to his mouth like he doesn’t want to admit it. “Go on then,” he says, gentling his tone a little. “I can clean up, then I’ll just be in the living room if you need anything.”

Steve’s lips purse and Bucky’s _really_ got to stop looking at his lips. “Fine,” he says like he’s _mad_ that Bucky’s both cooking and cleaning. “Only because I don’t think I can stay awake much longer.”

“Normal?” Bucky prompts, relaxes a little when Steve nods.

“For me, yeah.” Steve pushes to his feet, sways a little, then turns to pick up the chair, and _no_ , Bucky can’t have that.

He crosses the distance in a couple of steps, puts his hand on the back of the chair. “Leave it.” He says, letting his beast out a little bit, layering his tone with command. It doesn’t always work on non-wolves, but it’s always worth a shot. “Bed. Go.”

Steve sways again, but lets go of the chair, then looks at his hand like he’s not sure why he did that. Bucky taps his fingers against the wood back of the chair, then picks it up and carries it to the dining table.

He turns in place, looking at Steve with a raised eyebrow, waiting. Steve finally starts his long, slow trek from the kitchen, and Bucky can’t help himself, walking with him, not offering help but there if Steve needs it.

Steve _the witch_ , he reminds himself. _The witch working for City Hall_.

Bucky shakes his head slightly, then again when Steve looks at him in confusion. “It’s nothing,” he says, keeping his voice quiet. “Leave the door open a bit if you don’t mind Winter sleeping on the bed with you, otherwise close it.” He waits until Steve’s settled back in bed, door cracked open, then turns back to the kitchen with a sigh directed at his own uselessness.

He gets the kitchen clean and flops onto the couch with his book, listening to the sound of Steve baby-talking Winter in the other room. It’s nice to have more than just silence, as much as Bucky likes being on his own.

He has to remind himself six more times over the following hours that Steve is _not_ staying.

**

Steve does leave that evening. Bucky gets him into an uber and sends him on his way, watching the little dot on his app until it gets to the address Steve had entered. Then he realises exactly how creepy that is when it’s someone he doesn’t know well and removes Steve’s trip from his history.

**

A week and a half later Bucky’s finally released from work and is heading out when he hears the TV on in the nurse’s break room. There’s a familiar voice, the warm voice that is their city’s Mayor, and every part of him recoils at the fake friendliness in his voice. Bucky sticks his head in to see what’s happening, and as soon as he gets a good look at the screen, everything in him turns cold.

Their Mayor is standing at a podium, reporters all around him, preaching more of his anti-werewolf bullshit and claiming that it’s all in the name of safety. It’s not the vitriol coming from the Mayor's mouth that has Bucky’s attention though. It’s who’s standing next to him.

It’s Steve.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a fair bit of exposition here, sorry about that

Bucky’s running again. His paws crunch through the frosted grass, and he keeps himself well clear of the walking paths winding through the park. He keeps his movements loose, patrolling his territory like usual.

He’s the alpha of the area and has been for years, sure, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t dumbass wolves who think they can get away with things under his watch. Tonight though, everything is quiet, just the trees, the moon, and Bucky.

The stillness is shattered not long afterwards though, ozone burning his nose. This time there’s a familiar note to it, and Bucky’s heart sinks even as the wolf in him turns towards the scent, following it to its source. He slips through the trees towards a clearing on the edge of the park, close to where cars are still roaring past despite the hour.

He falls still once he breaks through the treeline, part of him wanting to go right over when he sees Steve kneeling in a circle drawn in the dirt.

The rest of him is _furious_.

Bucky can feel it, can feel what the witch is doing. It’s a tug inside his chest, pulling him forward, pulling him towards the witch. Demanding he reveal himself. He’s the closest, sure, but soon enough he knows that whatever this spell is doing to him will reach others of his kind, will warp them in ways he can’t even imagine.

He knows he needs to stop Steve.

Bucky takes a step forward, silent now, slowly transferring his weight until he’s all but gliding across the ground. Once he’s close he pulls his lips back, baring his teeth in a snarl that works its way out of his throat.

The sound cracks through the silence, and Steve jerks in his circle, keeping himself upright through what must be pure strength of will. Then Steve tips his head, blanches so quickly that Bucky thinks he’s going to pass out again.

Steve sways in his spot but stays kneeling, fingers pushed into the earth below him. The magic keeps pulsing, so Bucky stalks forward, right up until his nose is almost crossing the barrier that is the circle around Steve.

As he does, he sheds his wolf fur, maintaining eye contact as he shifts back to his human form.

Steve jerks back then, fully. Hands pull out of the dirt, and the ring of magic collapses around Steve until there’s nothing left. Bucky takes another step forward, fully on his feet, and magic sparks and crackles around him as the dying shields try to keep him out. “Bucky?” he gasps out, “You’re a _werewolf_?”

“You,” he says as he crosses that circle, chin lowered, lips pulled back in a snarl. “You’re the one who hid my birth moon from me.” He’d put it together, his subconscious connecting all the dots, but he hadn’t _believed_ , not until it was right in front of him.

Steve just stares at him, silent, chest rising and falling with each rapid breath.

“I took you into my home, fed you, watered you. I helped you, and it turns out you’re his _pawn_ all along.”

“I-” Steve stammers, both hands up as pushes himself back against the tree blocking his path. “Please don’t hurt me.” The words are quiet, dropping into the space between them, and Bucky stills.

The wolf in him claws, strains against his control to try and get to Steve, to hurt, to kill. _Vengeance_ , it cries, and that makes him resist. It’s never been vicious, never been bloodthirsty. It’s always been _just_ , but this response it too much.

“What did you do to me,” he growls, and Steve flinches. “Tell me!”

“There, um,” Steve gets out, shrinking against the tree as if being smaller would protect him from Bucky’s wrath. “There was a spell. My boss gave it to me, told me it would keep your kind calm, stop anyone from getting hurt in the vicinity.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, sifting through scents to look for any of the bitterness of a lie. None. “He lied to you. Turn it off, get it out of me.” Steve doesn’t move, and Bucky takes a step forward. “Now!”

“I need to touch you,” Steve’s voice is strong now, and his chin is tilted up, stubborn. “It won’t work otherwise.”

Bucky takes a step closer, chaining his wolf up further with each step. “Don’t move without telling me,” he says, voice tight. “I don’t know if I can beat whatever your spell has done.” He crouches and the wolf howls for blood. Gritting his teeth, Bucky holds out his arm, all bare skin for Steve to touch. “If you don’t remove it, I’m killing you, whether I want to or not.”

Steve pales, but says, “I’m going to put my hand on your wrist,” then does so in a slow movement. Energy crackles between them and Steve looks him in the eye, then holds a little tighter.

It’s a few seconds before he feels anything, but his wolf settles back, retreats into the back of his mind. It has Bucky sagging in relief, arm flexing under Steve’s hand. A few more moments and Steve says, “I’m letting go,” and falls back.

Bucky stays crouched, pressing his hands to his temples and rubbing in slow circles, looking for any hint of _other_ in his mind. There’s still anger, still disgust, still disappointment, but they’re all _his own_ and Bucky knows each thought well.

“It’s gone,” he says. “Whatever it was, it’s gone.”

Steve watches him, still cautious, as Bucky stands up. He can’t stand still, paces the length of the clearing, back. “You were trying to do that to all of my people, my pack,” he says sharply. “By all rights your life is mine.” He drops his chin. “But you didn’t know. So, tell me.” He stops again in front of Steve, looks down at him. “What _do_ you know?”

“I know werewolves are dangerous,” Steve says immediately, still not moving from his spot. “I know your kind are killers. I know you’re all instinct, and don’t listen to reason.”

Bucky stares. “I listened to you,” he says, eyes narrowing. “You drop excuses at my feet and I haven’t killed you, even though by our law I could have. I chose not to. How does that line up with what you know?”

“It doesn’t,” Steve whispers, voice clear as anything to Bucky. “Nothing is making sense.”

Bucky snorts, the sound sharper than it should be in the silent night. “Who taught you what you know?”

Steve’s answer isn’t what he expects. “A werewolf.” His voice is shaking, barely a whisper. “I was six, he was- He was going to-”

Bucky crouches by Steve again, and Steve focuses on him with wide eyes. “He hurt you,” he says softly, anger leeching out in the face of someone’s pain.

“He tried,” Steve says with a shake of his head. “Another wolf came out of nowhere, knocked him away, chased him into the park. Then someone, another witch, grabbed me, took me to hospital.”

“Was that witch, by chance, our illustrious Mayor?” Bucky says, and just as Steve starts to nod the rest of Steve’s sentence clicks in his mind. “Wait- _you_ \- that was _you_?”

When Steve just stares at him, Bucky shakes his head, lets himself fall back until his bare ass hits the frosted ground. “Years ago,” he says, quiet. “We had a visitor to our area. He just showed up, no formal request, but he didn’t seem to be trouble, so I let him stay.” And oh, how he’d come to regret that decision. “But within a few weeks he’d started terrorising runners, lurking in the park in his wolf form, sometimes even in his _were_ form, attacking people, attacking their animals.” He paused to shake his head. “He was mid-attack when I finally caught up to him. I dealt with him, under the laws of our people, but when I went back the human was gone. It was you, wasn’t it?”

“Why would you help?” Steve’s voice is just as quiet, wary. “Why would you help humans if we’ve been so bad to your kind?”

Bucky lifts his chin. “Because it’s right. Because it’s my duty. Because every pack needs an alpha and I’ve been trusted with that role.” Pushing to his feet, Bucky holds out a hand to Steve, pushing back the anger that no longer has direction. “Come with me, let me show you the truth about my people. Let yourself see both sides of the story.”

When Steve hesitates, Bucky softens his tone like he’s talking to a scared pup. “If you don’t trust me, trust in the person who you met before. The nurse who fed you and clothed you and has a dog who’s bigger than he needs to be. Trust _him_.”

Steve stares at him for a second, then reaches up and takes his hand. His eyes drop, then widen, and Bucky can catch the faint tinge of pink in his cheeks.

“You’re, uh,” Steve says, and Bucky snorts.

“What, you think wolves wear pants?”

Steve continues to stare, so Bucky sighs, pulls Steve upright. “I have a cache near here,” he says with a sideways look at Steve. “I don’t make a habit of wandering around upscale New York City like this.”

By the dark shade of Steve’s cheeks, he’d been trying not to think about that. Bucky walks into the park proper again and there’s a quiet choked noise before Steve scrambles behind him, steps loud until he catches up.

Steve keeps quiet as they walk so Bucky does too, weaving through the trees until he finds his marked one. He lets his claws out, climbs a few metres up until he can reach the first branch, and grabs his bag down. Steve’s eyes stay on him as he dresses quickly, and Bucky can’t help but look over at him as he gets his sweatpants over his hips. He doesn’t say anything, but Steve looks down, flushing even more as he does.

Bucky pulls on his sweater, tugs at the collar to settle it, and says, “C’mon,” rather than mentioning it.

They make it back to Bucky’s apartment in silence, and Bucky shrugs a little when Steve looks at him questioningly. “Where else was I going to take you?” He says with a snort. As soon as they’re inside, Winter firmly settling his head on Steve’s lap, he ducks off to his room to swap his sweater for a normal tee.

Once he returns, Bucky curls himself into the armchair opposite Steve’s spot on the couch, and for a while, all they do is stare at each other.

Then Steve asks, “Can you tell me about yourself?” There’s still fear-scent in the air but muted, like he’s trying to keep himself calm.

Bucky squints a little, looking for any hint of a ploy. “You’re not just having me on, are you?”

“You trusted me enough to bring me here,” Steve says with a shrug. “Surely you wouldn’t have done that if you thought I was fucking with you.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, says, “That’s because I could kill you before you called for help.” It’s blunt, but not entirely true. Yes, he could, but he won’t. Because, _damnit_ , because despite everything he trusts Steve to be better than what he was doing. To be better than the lies he’s clearly been fed.

Steve gives him a look, not intimidated in the slightest, a massive difference from how he’d been in the park less than an hour ago. “You wouldn’t, though.”

Sighing, Bucky tips his head back, looks at the ceiling. “What do you want to know?”

“How did you become a werewolf?” Steve asks, and that brings a laugh out of Bucky before he can help it. Steve gives him a hurt look, so he explains.

“I’m a born wolf, Steve. I’ve always been one.”

Steve looks at him in disbelief. “I didn’t think wolves could be-”

“Forget everything you were taught,” Bucky cuts him off. “About my kind. Clearly, none of it is true.”

Steve pouts but nods at Bucky to continue. “Okay, start from the start.”

“When a mommy wolf and a daddy wolf love each other very much,” Bucky says in the voice he uses to speak to children. Steve immediately and violently turns pink and chokes on his spit.

“Fuck you,” Steve gets out after coughing for a good minute.

“If you ask nice,” Bucky says mildly to throw Steve off, and Steve goes an even darker shade of pink, nearing on red.

Bucky decides to be nice, and not indulge in the play his wolf is pushing him into – play that is honestly confusing the hell out of Bucky. Mere hours ago his wolf wanted to take out his anger in Steve’s skin, and now? _Play_. “When wolves are born, it’s not the exact date that matters. It’s recorded, sure, but what we really pay attention to is the moon the child is born under.”

“Is this the same for turned wolves?” Steve asks, blush starting to fade much to Bucky’s disappointment.

“Yes, the night they’re turned is what’s counted,” Bucky says. “Now shush and let me finish.”

Steve mimes zipping his lips, so Bucky continues. “It tells a lot about the child, but it’s not fate or destiny. A child will be whoever or whatever they want to be.” He purses his lips. “Unless you’re born under one of the most sacred moons to our people.”

Steve opens his mouth, but Bucky holds up a finger. Steve closes his mouth with a click of teeth. “I was born under the phenomenon called the triple moon.” He pauses to look at Steve again, sighs when he sees no recognition. “It’s something that last happened nearly two hundred years ago. I think the media called it the ‘super blue blood moon’ because they couldn’t think of anything smarter. A super moon, red, and the second full moon of that month.”

Understanding dawns on Steve’s face, then he clearly realises something. “Wait, are you saying you’re nearly two hundred years old?”

The question, and the incredulity in Steve’s voice makes Bucky frown a little. “One hundred and fifty-two, to be exact,” Bucky says primly.

Steve just stares at him for a second. Bucky sighs. “It’s not super old for a wolf,” he shrugs. “But there aren’t any older than me in New York state, not anymore.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath, then shakes his head sharply, as if to clear it. “Okay, triple moon. Why is that significant?”

“It means I’m strong, fast. I can last longer in my wolf skin than others, outside of the full moon.” He tucks his feet up onto the armchair, cat-like, and looks at Steve again.

“And you used that to become… a nurse?” Steve says next, and Bucky frowns.

“If you’re just gonna insult me I won’t bother,” he says sullenly and watches with growing amusement as Steve furiously backpedals.

“No, I mean- my mum’s a- I didn’t- nothing wrong with-”

“Relax, Steve,” he says after letting Steve suffer for a minute. “I get it. With what I have, it makes more sense to go into something like security, or the military. A lot of wolves go that way. And I did too, at first. Plenty of humans willing to step back and let a wolf do the dying. But then I lost the arm, sometime in the mid-forties, and didn’t have a proper prosthetic until probably the sixties.” He holds up his left hand, lets the metal glint in the light before dropping it back to his lap, watches in amusement as Steve’s gaze tracks the movement then yanks up as soon as he realises where he’s staring.

“How did you, um. How did you lose it?” Steve says, cheeks pink as he meets Bucky’s gaze again. Bucky lets him squirm in silence for a second before answering.

“Gunshot, here,” he taps his bicep. “Then add the dirt and mud from war-torn Europe, and I lost it due to infection. They couldn’t do anything to save it.” He shrugs. “So, I went into medicine after that.”

Steve looks at him for a second, face pulled down into a frown. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, “that this happened to you.”

Bucky shrugs. “It is what it is.”

He looks down at his hand, then up at Steve. “The anti-wolf bullshit started in the eighties.” Steve’s eyebrows go up at that. “It’s true. The government decided they didn’t need us fightin’ their wars for them, and recalled all the wolf units. Then someone else had the bright idea that they should deploy the wolf units and recall the rest, so that happened towards the end of that decade. An easy way to get rid of us. Government-sanctioned genocide.”

Bucky gives up on sitting, pushing to his feet and pacing to the window. Winter lifts his head from Steve’s lap and gives him a disdainful sniff before going back to being petted, and the wolf in Bucky wants to join him. He pushes it down. “That’s about when the Mayor showed up on the political scene. I don’t know if that was his stance to begin with, or he hitched himself to the anti-wolf bandwagon, but that’s been his stance ever since.

“Why don’t you say his name?” Steve asks, voice quiet. When Bucky turns, Steve is frowning over at him.

Bucky shrugs. “It feels like inviting him into my life if I do,” he says, “Dumb as it sounds. He’s ruined enough of it, I don’t want to give him the chance at anything else.”

“That’s fair,” Steve says with a nod, looking down at the dog. “How did you get your arm, when did that happen?”

Bucky flexes his hand, metal plates sliding together silently. “About five years ago there was a call for what amounts to test subjects, from a tech company in Manhattan. They needed someone to use their prototypes, get results for them, and who better to test on than someone with the innate immunity and strength of a werewolf? Plus, they wanted to test if they’d gotten the attuning right, to make it shift with me.”

He shrugs and knows he’s done that a lot during this conversation, but hell, he’s not about to stop now. “I got it for free, they got a test subject, and I’m a far better nurse than I was with one hand.”

Turning on the spot, he looks at Steve, folding his arms across his chest. “None of that explains why you’re involved though. How you ended up interning for someone like our mayor. I looked you up, you know,” he adds, and when Steve’s eyebrows go up he elaborates. “Last time, I googled your name. You’re not on any registries or anything, but you were clearly doing powerful magic.”

It’s Steve’s turn under the microscope, and he doesn’t look too happy about it. “I um. I’m not registered yet.”

“But that means,” Bucky starts, but Steve keeps talking over him.

“I’m not registered because I haven’t taken the exam, and I haven’t taken the exam because I don’t have a sponsor.”

“You have a mentor?” Bucky asks, walking over and perching on the couch beside Steve. Winter wiggles forward, crawling until he can lick Bucky’s hand as well, and Steve laughs as he gets jostled around.

“Yeah. P- uh, sorry. The Mayor. He took me on after he rescued me.” Steve looks at his hands as Bucky frowns. “He always says I’m not strong enough, that I won’t survive the exam. He won’t sponsor me.”

Bucky’s frown deepens, and he shifts in his seat to stare at Steve. “You’re one of the strongest witches I’ve ever been around,” he says bluntly. He holds out a hand, palm facing Steve, and hovers it over Steve’s shoulder. “I can feel it. I don’t even have to touch you to feel your magic.”

“You didn’t know I was a witch when you picked me up.”

Snorting, Bucky gives him a look. “You’d burned yourself out. Doing something not even experienced witches manage most of the time, I might add.”

“It didn’t work.”

Bucky talks over him, cutting him off. “You summoned clouds from nowhere, so what if there wasn’t any rain or snow. Trying to control weather has _killed_ witches before, Steve. I’ve seen what it can do to witches. I’ve seen them come through the ER.”

“But-”

“No buts, Steve.”

Steve lets his head hang for a second, then looks at Bucky, up through his lashes. It twists Bucky up in ways he wasn’t expecting, _want_ colliding with _protect_ colliding with _support_. He goes with the third because that’s the easiest one to think about. “Whatever’s stopping him from sponsoring your exam, it’s not your strength. In fact,” Bucky adds as a thought comes to him. “Maybe it’s because of your strength. You’re an off-the-books witch who’s stronger than he is. If he wants a tool, he’s just got to keep you with him.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, head tipping to look at him fully. “You still haven’t explained why the _Mayor_ is the big bad in all of this.”

“Steve,” he says quietly. “The only person who benefits from killing werewolves is the one whose political career is built on him promising to do so. We’re good people. Teachers, doctors, nurses. Engineers, pilots. We deserve as much of a life as the next guy, and hell, humans have a higher percentage of murderers than we do.”

Steve looks at him doubtfully, so Bucky points at the sky through the window. “The moon helps us keep our wolves in control. The more time we spend under it, the better we are. Even months with no moontime doesn’t make us killers, it just means we’re more likely to binge-eat in the middle of the night or shift during the day.” He pauses, looks at Steve. “He had you cover the moon, last full moon. Why did he tell you to do that?”

Steve hesitates. “He said it weakens your kind,” is the eventual answer. “Makes you less aggressive, because the wolf isn’t as close to the surface.”

“It does the opposite,” Bucky confirms. “Then this second spell, you said he told you it was calming? The opposite, again. It amplified the anger I had towards you, made my wolf want to rend, to kill, to watch you bleed.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, then shakes his head slowly. “Lack of moontime to bring our wolves closer to the surface, plus a spell that pushes the aggressive emotions of the wolf? Sounds to me like he was setting us up.”

Steve stares at him, unblinking, then shakes his head sharply like he’s clearing it. “But that means-”

“He’s due to speak tomorrow, isn’t he?” A nod. “Introducing new legislation? Don’t you think he’s more likely to get through something if he’s got a swarm of wolf attacks to back him up?”

“I-”

Bucky stands, places his hand on Steve’s shoulder for a second. “Just think about it. I’m going to shower, I feel sticky.”

As Bucky walks back down the hall he glances over his shoulder, gives Steve a little smile when he catches the other man watching. Then he ducks into the bathroom and takes a deep breath.

It’s worse than he expected, honestly. A mayor spewing bullshit he can handle, people don’t tend to take words to hard without evidence to back it up. A mayor setting up attacks as proof of his lies? That’s something that needs to be stopped, and Bucky has the sinking feeling that it’s going to be his job to stop it.

He starts the shower, strips down, and climbs in. He hadn’t exactly been telling the truth, but the hot water felt good after the events of the night. As his muscles start to relax, he scrubs a hand through his hair, wetting the strands while he puts the entire problem out of his mind. It could wait ten minutes, he tells himself. It _would_ wait.

Ten minutes later he’s climbing out of the shower and realising his problem. He looks at his clothes, looks at the towel in his hands, then sighs. After a quick wipe-down, he wraps the towel around his waist, bundles his clothes, and steps out of the bathroom into the hall.

And promptly walks into Steve.

Bucky stumbles back, then sways forward as he tries to keep his balance. Steve’s hands catch his shoulders and Bucky ends up with both of his hands on Steve’s chest, towel wrapped precariously around his hips and inching lower with each heartbeat.

“Uh,” he says eloquently, staring at the chest in front of him. “What?”

Steve stammers out an apology, clearly flustered, and his hands sort of… flutter on Bucky’s shoulders before holding tight again. “Sorry,” he says again. “Didn’t expect you to come out yet.”

“What?” Bucky repeats, finally lifting his head to squint at Steve. “Why?”

Steve looks down at him properly, cheeks still tinged pink. “I uh. Didn’t get a chance to look around last time, wanted to make sure I knew where everything was.”

“So,” Bucky says as his brain comes back online. “You were snooping?”

Steve shrugs, not looking ashamed in the slightest. “Kinda. Didn’t go into your bedroom or the study, just getting my bearings mostly. Your apartment is twice the size of mine.”

Bucky squints, lets his hands slide down just a little. If Steve is going to stand there and let him, Bucky isn’t above copping a little bit of a feel. “Bought it when they built the complex,” he says distractedly. “Worth a hell of a lot more now.” He rubs his thumbs back and forth absently, and Steve twitches.

“Um. I’ll let you get dressed,” Steve says. Doesn’t move though.

Bucky tips his head back and looks up at him. “You’re going to have to move outta the doorway, Steve.”

Steve turns pink again and drops his hands, stepping back. Bucky only just manages to grab his towel in time as the movement knocks it free, and Steve’s eyes follow the movement before jerking up again. “I’ll uh. Wait in the living room,” he says before retreating, and Bucky can’t help but laugh under his breath at the clear retreat.

He makes his way to the bedroom, glancing over his shoulder at Steve’s retreating back before ducking into his room to change.

By the time he comes out Steve’s flush has mostly faded, and Bucky shoves his wet hair up into a low ponytail before sitting back on the armchair.

“Do you think,” he says after a second to break the silence between them. “You’ll be willing to help my pack this time around?”

Steve stares at him in shock. “You’d trust me to do that?”

“You’ve trusted me this far, it’s only fair that I trust you in return,” Bucky says.

The look on Steve’s face is something Bucky can only describe as relief, though it’s deeper than that, pulling at Bucky’s heart in a way that few things have managed in a long time. “Okay,” he says quietly, then again, louder. “Okay. Where do we start?”

**

Steve is highly unimpressed when Bucky tells him what he needs to do first. “An email?” He says, incredulity dripping from the words. Bucky raises an eyebrow, but Steve repeats, “You want me to send an email?”

“To your boss, yes,” Bucky says. “You need to leave your position there.”

“By email.” It’s not a question this time, Steve’s eyes are sharp on Bucky’s face.

“I’ve known you for a grand total of thirty-six hours and I already know you see the best in people, and you want to believe that people are good at heart.” Bucky raises an eyebrow and Steve goes an interesting shade of pink. “Put that in front of a politician who’s been grooming you your whole life and you’re not likely to come out of that conversation a winner.”

Steve looks like he’s going to protest, then before Bucky can say anything his eyebrows pull down, then he sighs. “Fine.”

“You’re not a paid intern are you?” Bucky asks, fairly sure he knows the answer.

“No.” Steve snorts. “Like P… the Mayor would pay his interns.” He stumbles over the man’s name, and Bucky sighs.

“You can say his name,” he says. “I won’t get mad.”

Steve shakes his head. “Just gotta get used to it. No worse than calling him “sir” for several years. He never once let anyone use his first name while I was in the room.”

Bucky snorts at the primary-school-bully tactic. “He’s got the ego to match his assholery, nice.” He’s not expecting Steve to laugh, so when he does Bucky glances over at him, shoots him a smile. It’s unfair, he thinks, it’s unfair that Steve can look so tempting and be so out of reach. He lights up when he laughs, despite the tension of the situation. He’s open, relaxed, eyes closed and head thrown back as he laughs like he’s never heard a joke before.

“Okay,” Steve says around the slowing bursts of laughter, “You want me to resign via email, then what? Move to a commune in the middle of Alaska so he never finds me again?”

Bucky snorts. “Alaska’s boring. The place you live, do you rent? Own?”

Steve snorts. “Like I could own my own place, I’m an unpaid intern, remember?”

Bucky doesn’t bat an eye, opens google on his phone. “Who’s the landlord?”

Steve opens his mouth, hesitates. “The Mayor,” he says eventually, slow like he’s just realised it.

“You should consider moving out sooner rather than later,” Bucky says bluntly.

It’s Steve’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I have no money, where would I go?”

Bucky doesn’t resist the wolf. “Here,” he says. Steve stares at him in shock. “I’ve got a spare room and Winter likes you.”

At the comment, there’s a bark and they both glance back to where Winter is perched on the sofa. He wags his tail, his whole butt shaking with it, and Bucky goes over to scratch behind his ears, stroke the top of his fluffy head.

“You can say no,” Bucky says as he pets the dog, not looking at Steve. “It’s just an option.”

Steve is staring at him. Bucky can feel the prickle at the back of his neck. “I’ll think about it,” he finally says.

Bucky glances back at him and Steve has a calculating look in his eye. “I don’t have anyone left in the city,” Steve says, and that hits Bucky right in the gut. No wonder Steve had ended up as he had, manipulated and twisted by a man looking for a weapon. Looking for a way to get what he wanted, what he still wants.

The thought hits him, and he has to stop, do some soul-searching on his own, because that thought sounded a hell of a lot like forgiveness to Bucky’s wolf. It was a step closer to it, a step away from the weird, uneasy truce that had been between them – a truce held together by the fact that they needed each other to be safe. Bucky’s wolf had already moved on, and something in him wanted to push past the last twinges of betrayal but Bucky’s human heart hadn’t been able to manage.

Until now, apparently.

He goes to speak, hesitates, then pushes it out anyway. “Are we… good?”

Steve gives him a surprised look, so Bucky elaborates. “You and me. If you’re still uncomfortable with me, I’ll work this one out on my own.”

Steve crosses the few steps between them, places his hand on top of Bucky’s, which is still resting on Winter’s head. “We’re good,” he says without hesitation. “Promise. It's easier when you're in this form, but I'll get over it.” A moment of silence between them, then Steve says, “What next?” and Bucky forces himself to focus back on the task at hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a little early for this one because i have an event tomorrow night - next week it'll be back to normal!
> 
> mild violence, more info, and some more characters introduced!

Bucky paces, paws just outside the edge of a circle drawn in the hard-packed dirt. The magic being cast inside pulls at him, a gentle coaxing that implores him to step over that circle, to burn himself down until there’s nothing left.

 _Nothing left but want_ , his wolf encourages, fighting against the hold Bucky has on it. It’s harder in this form, everything in him shunning the logical human mind in favour of the wolf, but he holds on. Barely.

Another loop around the circle. He glances in again, taking a breath in through his nose to filter out the scents around him. Nothing but ozone, Earth-dry, and _Steve_. He manages to focus on the shape through the shimmer of the circle, lets out a breath, and makes another loop.

The magic running through him shifts, changes, and Bucky’s wolf manages to slip its leash for a split-second. He ends up with his nose scant inches from the barrier, claws digging into the dirt. Staying still, he lets himself breathe through the push of magic, then takes a few steps backwards and starts his circling again.

It’s almost an hour before the barrier starts to drop, exposing more and more of Steve’s tufting blond hair, broad shoulders. Bucky waits until the barrier has fully dissipated before stepping forward. His wolf wants to leap forward, slide fur over Steve’s skin. Bucky, if he’s honest with himself, Bucky wants that too.

He resists.

Sitting in front of Steve, he tips his head to the side, keeping his distance. Steve’s still tense around him in this form and Bucky can’t exactly blame him. Steve glances at him, then his eyes flick away to look anywhere but at him. Bucky drops to his belly, sprawls himself out in the dirt, forcing himself to at least look relaxed in the hopes of settling Steve some.

“It’s done,” Steve says, barely a breath in the quiet morning air. “Can you feel it?”

Bucky nods, not able to speak in his current form, and thumps his tail against the ground a few times for good measure. He pulls in a breath over his tongue, checking to make sure they’re alone before pushing himself upright and shifting.

The lancing pain gives way to a dull ache, and he’s left crouching in front of Steve. He shakes his hair out, ends of his ponytail flicking his face as Steve goes pink and keeps his eyes somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky can’t help but indulge his wolf now that he’s the one in control, stretching his arms over his head and saying, “You can look, you know.”

Steve chokes quietly in front of him and Bucky grins. “What?”

Shrugging, Bucky lets his arms fall back to his sides. “Nudity means little to us, in this context at least. Clothes don’t shift with us, so of course, we have to be used to being without them.” He gives Steve the most innocent smile he can muster up, a complete lie. “So you can look at me. You don’t have to stare into space or anything.”

Steve’s eyes finally meet his, resolutely staying on Bucky’s face despite the blatant invitation. “What did it feel like?” Steve asks.

“The shift, or your spell?”

A hesitation, then Steve says, “Either,” looking surprised at his own answer.

“The shift is like being broken apart and put back together again, but with less pain. It still hurts but it fades quickly. It’s the only thing that stays the same through the years.”

“If it hurts, why do you shift?” Steve asks with a frown.

His voice is serious as he answers, gaze unwavering on Steve’s. “If we don’t, we go mad.”

Bucky stands and holds a hand out for Steve. He takes it without hesitation this time, eyes on Bucky’s face as he lets himself be pulled to his feet. “And the spell?” Steve asks.

“Good. It felt calm. Probably reversed anything that sunk in yesterday.” Bucky tips his head back, lets his wolf slip its leash and howls. The sound reverberates around their small clearing, then one by one howls from across the city answer.

“Who was that?”

A shrug and Bucky drops his chin to meet Steve’s eyes. He’s curious now, no sign of the fear from the day before, even from that morning when Bucky had first shifted. “Anyone who was out. A city like this, I don’t have the privilege of knowing everyone in my pack.”

“But they know you?”

“They know me. They know where I live, how to get hold of me.”

“That seems dangerous.”

Bucky levels a stare at Steve before tucking his hands under his armpits to keep his fingers warm. “I’m less worried about my safety, more worried about theirs,” he says bluntly. “It’s my job to be there for them when they need me.”

After a second of silence, Steve nods, slow. “How did you become alpha?” he asks next, but this time Bucky shakes his head before the question is fully out of his mouth.

“That’s a story for another time,” he says, before something niggles at the back of his mind. It’s just a feeling, but as the seconds pass it grows stronger,

He takes a breath, filtering the air over his tongue, then bares his teeth at the acrid tang of it. If Steve is ozone then this is sulphur, dry against the roof of his mouth and scratching down his throat. He turns instinctively, claws slicing out, and pulls his lips back over his teeth.

The man who steps out of the trees is unfamiliar and his magic stinks of evilbad _wrong_ to Bucky’s senses. He’s smiling but his stance is anything but nice, feet firm on the ground, knees bent, hands resting on his belt near his hips.

“Do you really think we wouldn’t be watching?” The man says, and even his voice sends the wrong kind of shiver crawling across Bucky’s skin.

Bucky growls in response, wolf nudging the back of his mind, then part of him panics as Steve steps out from behind him, right into the firing line.

“We weren’t sure it was you at first,” the man continues, staring past Steve to Bucky. “Your signature is hard to pin down. We thought it might be because of your natural immunity to magic, but…” he jerks his head at Steve, and Bucky can’t help the responding growl, picking up where the first had died off.

“What do you want, Brock?” Steve says sharply, and Bucky grabs Steve’s wrist, tugging him back. The stubborn fuck doesn’t move, and Bucky growls again.

“We want you back where you belong,” the man says before turning his gaze back to Bucky. “And we want him dead.”

Bucky laughs, can’t help it. The eyes on him narrow, one in confusion the other in concern. “I’ve already lived longer than you ever will,” he says, letting his wolf slip into his tone, silky-smooth and all the more dangerous for it. “And that’s a promise.”

Steve steps forward just as the man raises a hand, and there’s a flash of light as something hits a barrier between them. Burnt sulphur makes Bucky cough, and he slides an arm around Steve’s waist, yanking the man back as the other witch recoils.

He steps back again as Steve’s hands come up again, growling deep in his chest. As a flash of light crosses the distance between the two witches Bucky has to fight his instinct to put himself in front of Steve, waiting until they’re at the edge of the clearing before letting go.

“Trust me,” he murmurs in Steve’s ear before stepping back, and to his credit Steve doesn’t turn to look, just keeps his shield steady.

He pushes himself to the side as he lets the change wash over him, disappearing into the trees as soon as he’s on four feet again. It’s easy to work his way around the clearing, and it doesn’t take him long to realise the man – Brock – isn’t alone.

The first of the waiting witches goes down quietly, having made the folly of straying too far from the others.

The second puts up more of a fight. Bucky gets a gun butt to the shoulder before magic flickers between them, and he has to duck quickly. The tip of his tail gets singed in the blast, fur curling down and blackening, and Bucky snarls, lashing out before the witch can gather his magic for another attack.

The third and fourth are smarter, sticking together as they stand in the underbrush, and it makes Bucky hesitate, plotting his approach. They’re on alert after the yelling from the last one, one of them furiously hissing into a walkie-talkie.

Part of him wishes he was a panther, able to take to the trees easily and drop down from above, but even _he_ knows that panther shifters are long gone from their world – had been since before he was born. He puts up with what he’s got, slowly creeping forward with his belly nearly on the ground, dark fur blending into the underbrush. It wouldn’t last, not with the way the sun is brightening everything in preparation for the new day, but it’s long enough.

He leaps, bringing one of the witches down while the other is distracted by the walkie-talkie. It gives him a split second, just a moment to get his feet back on the ground, and he dodges the attack sent his way.

Bucky’s fast, but the witch is almost on par with him, stronger than the others, more experienced. Bucky sees his opportunity as the man goes to switch hands, throws himself forward, and gives himself into the beast.

Fur bursts out of him as his bones crack and reshape themselves, teeth growing too long for his mouth before his snout widens, lengthens with the rest of his body. He towers over the witch in this form, a cruel-looking mix of man and wolf, and the witch jerks to a stop with a yell.

There aren’t many who have seen a werewolf’s third form and even fewer who have lived to talk about it, so Bucky uses the surprise, the _terror_ , to his advantage, lashing out with clawed hands.

He holds back, just like he did with the others. Unconscious, not dead. Leaving the man where he fell, Bucky keeps his were form, creeps through the trees until he can see the clearing again. He scents, makes sure there’s only one left, then drops to his haunches, hands on the ground as he keeps himself low, out of sight.

A glimpse of the clearing, and Bucky almost can’t help the growl pulling up in his throat. He keeps it down, keeps his location hidden, and as soon as he’s close enough, he strikes.

Moving fast, he ignores the sound coming from Steve, filtering it away to process later as he hits Brock with the full weight of his body. The man crumples and Bucky grabs at his wrists, pinning them to the earth and keeping careful claws between Brock’s palms and the ground. Pressing one foot into Brock’s back, he drops his head, growl finally escaping as he presses the very tip of his nose to Brock’s exposed nape.

Bucky can’t speak in this form, so he just bares his teeth, pushing the tiniest part of his mind out to project his words straight into the head of the witch. It’s a one-way street, but for once Bucky doesn’t mind it. “ _Run along home and tell your master that you couldn’t finish the job, even with backup_.”

He lets go slowly, knowing exactly what’s about to happen, and Brock doesn’t disappoint. As soon as he’s released, he’s sending a bolt of magic towards Bucky, and there’s a yell from where Steve is.

It hits Bucky full force, and he blinks. Shakes himself. The magic falls away, unable to get a grip on him, and he bares his teeth in a savage grin. “ _Don’t remember anything from werewolf 101?_ ” Bucky teases, before withdrawing his mind completely, growling once. Warning.

Brock scrambles.

Bucky watches him go then straightens to his full height, turning to face Steve. He doesn’t know what to expect. Screaming, crying. Yelling, maybe. It’s not what he gets.

Steve is on his knees, staring. Eyes wide. There’s the faint tinge of fear, but so far overlaid with other scents that it’s barely there. A remnant, maybe. _Or_ part of his brain supplies, _fear_ for _Bucky_.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice snaps the silence in two. “Can you understand me while you’re… like that?”

Bucky nods his head once, drops himself down to all fours to try and make himself less threatening. Not entirely possible in a form designed to be as threatening as possible, but he hopes the effort is appreciated.

Claws dig into the dirt as he waits, eyes on Steve. Unwavering.

Steve sags a little, almost like he’s leaning forward, towards Bucky. “Can you… come over here?”

Bucky waits for a split second, then slowly pulls himself forward. It’s awkward in this form, even more so than if he was human, but he doesn’t want to tower over Steve. Even had the man been standing, he would, but with Steve on his knees Bucky has an extra few feet on him, and he doesn’t want to send fear-scent spiralling through the air again.

He stops just out of Steve’s reach, sits back on his haunches, and tips his head to the side. Delicately, he sends out his mind, a gentle tap against Steve’s presence nothing like what he’d done with the other witch.

Steve lets him in, and Bucky relaxes a little. “ _You’re not scared_.”

“You didn’t kill him. Didn’t kill any of them, I can feel their lives still in the back of my mind.”

“ _They were manipulated by the ones in charge. Brock – he deserved it. But he needed to send a message_.”

Steve stares at him for a long while, then shifts forward, walking one knee in front of the other until he’s just in front of Bucky. “You said, before. You said I could look. Can… I touch?”

That has Bucky’s eyes widening, head pulling back as he stares at Steve in surprise. Steve seems to take that as his answer, eyes dropping down as his shoulders slump.

“ _Wait._ ”

Steve freezes, hand in the air, half withdrawn.

“ _You can if you want._ ”

Steve nods once like he’s steeling himself, then slowly moves his hand towards Bucky. A second later there are fingers in his fur, delicate strokes over his shoulder, down one thick arm. His fingers trail down, circles Bucky’s wrist before tracing the backs of his fingers, the tops of the claws there.

“It’s softer than I thought it would be.” At Bucky’s snort, he adds, “Not _soft_ , but _softer_.” Fingers work their way back up, ending up brushing over Bucky’s cheek, down the wolf-like snout.

Bucky doesn’t want to rush him, beast preening under the attention, but he can feel the itch in his gut, the press of magic, and knows he has to cut everything short.

“ _It’s been a long time since I was in this form. I need to shift down, but I don’t know what will happen when I do._ ”

Eyes wide and mouth open, Steve stares at him. “Will it hurt you more?” He asks, and Bucky honestly doesn’t have an answer for that.

“ _I don’t know. I shifted too fast, moved too soon, it’s only to be expected._ ”

“What do I need to do?”

Bucky tips his head, regarding Steve. “ _My phone_.” It’s in Steve’s pocket, a decision Bucky’s glad he hadn’t backed down on. “ _In it, there’s an emergency contact. If necessary, call him._ ”

Waiting until Steve nods, Bucky then withdraws his mind again. A deep breath then he lets the change back in.

He’s unconscious by the time his naked body hits the ground.

**

Bucky wakes up in his bedroom, Winter snoozing at the end of his bed. Not entirely unusual, but his bedroom door is completely closed, which has him on edge. Then add the prickling feeling across his skin like he’s not alone, and he’s immediately on the defensive.

He doesn’t move, just lets his eyes slowly close and takes a breath through his nose. There’s the scent of Steve, ozone becoming far too familiar, and another, stronger scent that he knows better than he knows his own.

Opening his eyes again, Bucky tips his head to look at the source of petrichor, smiles. “Hey, Sammy.”

Sam doesn’t even twitch. “Cute boy you got there, I’m almost tempted to try and steal him away for myself.”

Bucky’s wolf reacts immediately, growl crawling to the surface and Bucky only just manages to stop it in his throat. Sam smiles. “What?” Bucky says instead of doing what his wolf wants. The word comes out grated. Sam smiles wider and holds out a bottle of water that Bucky ignores.

“Steve!” Sam hollers without moving, and Bucky winces as the word lances through his brain. There’s the sound of footsteps, then Steve’s appearing at the doorway with a frown on his face. He lights up when his eyes finally make it to Bucky’s face, and Bucky can’t help but smile back. His wolf settles immediately at the sight of Steve, the word _mine_ floating through Bucky’s brain in a way that Bucky doesn’t want to examine right now.

Then Steve’s all but pushing his way between Bucky and Sam, crouching by the bed. Bucky’s wolf preens under the attention from it’s chosen, and that thought makes Bucky recoil internally. He’s got _no_ idea where that came from. He drops his chin to look at Winter instead of meeting Steve’s gaze.

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” Steve says. His voice is stern, but the furrow of his brow is concerned, his eyes, soft.

Instead of answering, Bucky sits up slowly, holds out his hand for the water bottle. He gets it, but Sam doesn’t let go at first, not until Bucky looks at him and receives a Look in return. He cracks the lid without acknowledging that look, takes a long pull before resting his head back against the headboard.

He swallows, doesn’t look at Steve when he speaks. “Several changes in an hour, one of them to a form I haven’t used in… a long time.” He shrugs, winces a little as it pulls at muscles all the way down his back. “More shifting would have dropped my reserves too low, so my brain likely pulled the plug.”

Steve frowns, clearly unimpressed, but keeps most of it to himself, and simply hums a little in response. He still doesn’t look impressed. Eventually, he says, “Shouldn’t the full moon have helped?”

Bucky nods slightly. “Should have. Birth moon too, and the triple on top of all that. But someone convinced a powerful witch to fuck with that, so.” Steve at least has the good sense to look embarrassed at that.

“Just make sure he sleeps in the moonlight tonight,” Sam says with a shrug. “We’ve been here before, he’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t try to shift or anything for a day or so.”

Bucky sighs slowly, knowing that between the two of them he’s going to be thoroughly and annoyingly coddled. “I’ll be fine,” he says, latching onto those three words and pressing them.

Steve frowns. “You were white as anything when you changed back.”

“How long was I out?” Bucky asks, interrupting the rant he can feel coming.

Sam picks up this one. “About thirteen hours.”

“Not my longest,” Bucky says, and he can’t hide the relief in his tone, doesn’t really want to.

Steve’s eyes go sharp. “What was the longest?”

“Twenty-seven and a half,” Bucky recites primly before sagging back into the headboard again.

Steve’s “Jesus,” is low, under his breath. “Is the half that important?”

Sam snorts from his spot on the chair. “At twenty-eight they recommend hospitalisation.”

Steve swears under his breath.

“See,” Bucky says without giving either of them time to fuss. “It’s perfectly within the allowable limit. I should know, I’m the nurse here.”

Sam scowls but stands, brushing his hands over his lap like he’s dusting off the conversation. “Fine, now that you’re awake I’m heading out.”

Steve stands, and Bucky watches them head to the door with narrowed eyes, relaxing only slightly when both paused to pet Winter’s head. There’s a quiet discussion at the door, and even with Bucky’s hearing he only catches a couple of words. Stringing them together makes no sense, so he says, “Thank you, Sam,” loud enough for the man to catch then closes his eyes again.

It feels like a moment, but when he opens his eyes again Bucky realises it’s been longer than that. The light in the room is a little lower, and Steve’s sitting on the chair Sam had vacated. Winter’s crawled his way up the bed and has his front feet wedged between Bucky’s back and the headboard. He’s drooling on Bucky’s pillow, and Bucky sighs.

The sound has Steve glancing up, and as soon as the other man realises Bucky’s awake again his phone his tucked away.

“I crashed again didn’t I?” Bucky asks, then immediately yawns, jaw cracking with how wide it goes.

“Yeah,” Steve says, smiles, and Bucky’s wolf preens. “It’s good you woke up by yourself, my neck was aching for you.”

Bucky rolls his head side to side slowly. “Slept in worse places,” he says with a slight shrug, and this time the movement hurts less. “Shower, food, and a nap in the moonlight and I’ll be fine.”

Steve stands and holds out a hand. Bucky can’t help himself, stares at it unblinkingly as he tries to work out what Steve wants. “C’mon,” Steve says, and _oh_ , Bucky’s supposed to be standing. “I’ll get you to the bathroom then make something for dinner. You’re okay with me using your kitchen?”

Bucky nods, takes Steve’s hand, lets the man pull him up to his feet. It’s only a second, but Steve’s skin is warm and Bucky’s wolf pushes to step closer, to press all up on that heat and leech off it. Bucky has to fight to shove that one away, because yeah the warm is incredibly tempting. He compromises and steadies himself on Steve’s shoulder.

Steve doesn’t pull back, and Bucky glances up at him, smiles a little. “Shower,” he says, reminds himself, and Steve nods. Then there’s an arm around his waist, and Bucky can’t resist, leans against Steve as they start to walk towards the bedroom door.

There’s a soft bark behind him and Bucky pauses, whistles without glancing back. Winter jumps from the bed with a loud thud, and the click of claws comes closer until there’s a head nudging at his fingers.

He can’t do much beyond scratch at Winter’s head, not wanting to try bending over, but the dog seems content with that and goes to curl up on the couch. Bucky watches him go with a sigh before sucking up his pride and letting Steve help him to the bathroom.

**

Bucky yawns, stretching himself out in the patch of moonlight that’s hitting his couch. His wolf is contentedly quiet for once, and he’s glad for that. It’d be so easy to slip into his fur, curl up in his wolf form and snooze, but that’s one thing he knows he can’t do right now. He scratches at his stomach where his shirt has ridden up, flexes his toes, then opens his eyes.

A quick scan around the room and he finds Steve, sitting in the armchair with pen to paper. At first, Bucky thinks he’s writing, but the movements don’t match. Long strokes, then short sharp flicks from all angles. Steve turns the paper, resettles the biro in his grip, and that seals it for Bucky.

He takes a slow breath in, lets it out on a soft hum, then says, “What’cha drawin’?”

Steve doesn’t jump but it’s a near thing, and Bucky has the great amusement of watching Steve’s jaw clench like he’s fighting a yell. Panic drops into his scent before it settles again, and Bucky grins, can’t help himself.

“Nothing,” Steve says. Bucky’s known him for all of a couple of consecutive days and he can already tell when Steve’s lying. The man has so many tells it’s almost embarrassing – the twitch of his jaw, the way his gaze drops to the left, the tap of his finger.

“Bullshit,” Bucky says before fully shifting to his side and closing his eyes again. He wiggles a little on the couch then sighs loudly. Then again, a little louder.

“Fine,” Steve snaps, but when Bucky cracks an eyelid to look, he’s smiling at the paper in his hands, so Bucky assumes he’s not entirely mad.

Bucky holds out his hand and Steve sighs and pushes to his feet. He hands over the paper as soon as he’s standing in front of Bucky, and Bucky smiles up at him before dropping his eyes to the treasure he’d been shown.

And gasps.

It’s him – he’d worked that out when Steve had gotten cagey – asleep on the couch, but it’s not the subject that’s caught Bucky’s attention. It’s the details, the softness Steve’s somehow managed to convey. It’s the warmth, the affection in the small penned piece that has Bucky looking back up at Steve. Seeking _something_ , though he doesn’t know what.

Steve smiles, wry.

“You forgot the drool,” Bucky says before he can think, and that, he’s blaming on the fact that he just woke up. Steve laughs, so Bucky doubles down, saying, “And the crease lines, I know I don’t look even half as elegant as this when I sleep.”

“To be fair,” Steve replies as he perches on the coffee table. “You weren’t asleep when I started. I just ran with that, it’s a bit more flattering.”

Bucky snickers but lets his gaze drop back to the paper. He strokes a finger over one sharp blue line and says, “It’s gorgeous.”

Steve looks like he’s about to protest, so Bucky adds, “It really is,” and shoots him a look out of the corner of his eye.

Steve opens his mouth but is cut off by the sound of a doorbell. Winter looks up from his spot by Bucky’s feet, and Bucky waves a hand at the intercom unit by the door. “Go see who it is?” he asks before Steve can say anything. “Don’t buzz ‘em up yet.” He waits until Steve’s actually near the door before saying, “Press the button under the screen to turn it on.”

“A woman,” Steve starts. “Red hai- Nat?”

Bucky perks up. “Nat’s here?” And then – “Wait, you know Nat?”

“If you truly know Nat,” Steve says as he buzzes the woman in without answering the intercom. “You’ll know that she knows everyone and everything.”

“That doesn’t mean everyone knows her,” Bucky shoots back, swinging his legs to the ground in an attempt at an upright position. His head swims for a second at the suddenness of the move but otherwise, his body doesn’t complain much, so he takes it as a win.

The front door opens, and there’s a beat of silence before a quiet, “Steve?” It’s followed by a very smug, “Steve,” and Bucky hides a grin by dropping his head low. The movement catches Nat’s eye and she comes over to stand over him. Somehow, she towers, despite the fact that even with him seated she’s only a few inches taller than him. Even Winter is sufficiently cowed, sitting calmly at her feet instead of jumping up on her like he usually does.

“What did you do?” she says, even though they both know she not only _knows_ but has at least three opinions of – and none of them will be flattering. She very much just wants to see if he’s going to lie about it.

He takes door number two – tell the truth and keep his dignity. “I shifted about six times in an hour, including a wolf to were shift. Hadn’t gone were for … three months?”

Nat flicks his forehead lightly. “Idiot. Why so long?”

“No time, no one to run with.”

Nat raises an eyebrow, plants a hand on her hip. “Call me next time. Not a wolf, but you can sometimes keep up.”

Steve looks between them, confused, so Nat points at herself. “Fox,” she says.

“Kitsune,” Bucky chimes in.

“You know that’s-”

“Japanese, I know I’m sorry. Easiest way to explain.”

Steve interrupts. “What do you call yourselves?”

Nat shoots Bucky a look, as if to say _well someone finally asked_ , before answering in one word – “Yadin.”

Steve gapes. Honest to god has his mouth hanging open, and he drops to the couch as if his legs can’t hold him up anymore. “I thought you had all been killed? That’s what we were told in school.”

“You were taught lies,” Nat says simply as she reaches over, pats Steve’s shoulder. “That’s why you could never guess. You didn’t know it was possible.” She turns her attention back to Bucky. “How are you recovering?”

“Fine,” Bucky says, but Steve speaks over him, immediately contradicting.

“If he’d had to answer the door himself, he’d have passed out before he made it across the room.”

And yeah, Bucky can concede that point. “I’ll be fine in a couple of days, I just have to take it easy,” he tries again, and Nat snorts.

“You don’t know the meaning of those words,” Nat says as she turns and heads for the kitchen. “Do you still have the tea I bought you?”

Bucky makes a noise that he knows she can hear and flops back onto the couch as he looks at Steve. “So,” he says, “How do you know Nat?”

“Saved my ass once, decided I was useful,” is the wry response. “Not sure what she keeps me around for.”

“Do you know much about Yadin?” When Steve shakes his head, Bucky isn’t surprised. “They feed off energy,” he says, knowing Nat can hear him. “They eat actual food, but their power comes from the people they surround themselves with. Like mine comes from the moon.”

Steve’s surprised little, “huh” comes just as Nat comes back around the island and sets three cups of tea on the coffee table. Bucky knows better than to argue, just holds out his hands, and metal clinks against ceramic as he takes the offered one in both palms.

“We are stronger if we surround ourselves with strong people, create emotional bonds with those people,” Nat explains. Bucky nods a little and tucks his feet back up on the couch.

“We met in college,” Bucky says, glancing up at his friend. “All those years ago. Nat ended up in law school, I ended up in med school, but we kept in touch. She could keep up with the beast, still can.”

He freezes as he realises what he’s said and Nat glares at him before flicking her fingers in his direction. “He means his were form,” she explains to a still-confused Steve.

That eases the confusion, but not the concern furrowing his brow. “Okay but,” he starts. Bucky takes advantage of his distraction and tucks his toes under Steve’s legs. “Why are we told that all of you are dead?”

“Remember the Mayor’s anti-wolf bullshit?” Bucky chimes in, and when Steve gives him a droll look he just says, “Yeah, that, but for Yadin – except it almost worked.”

Steve looks between the two of them, clearly realises they’re not joking in the slightest. “Why would anyone look to wipe out a species?” he asks, “we were just looking to reduce the threat you… I was _told_ that you posed to people.”

Nat arches one eyebrow, looking like she’s waiting for Steve to click. When he doesn’t look like he’s going to, she says, “That’s what they said about us.”

“But you’re _foxes_ ,” Steve protests.

Bucky snorts. “Yadin are just as dangerous as werewolves, if not more so. They’re faster. You wouldn’t see them coming.”

Putting his face in his hands, Steve sighs, shaky. “Is there anything else you’re going to prove wrong? Anything I should prepare myself for? The Sidhe aren’t real right? Trolls are definitely extinct?”

“Well,” Bucky says, but Nat hits him before he can spook Steve too much. “Nothing else, really. This one group hasn’t had a long time to operate, they’ve only been around since the second world war.”

“So,” Steve says, “The ones in charge are witches. Are all witches part of this group?”

Bucky gives him a droll look. “Sam isn’t. You were literally part of them, if anything why would we know that question if you don’t?”

“No,” Nat takes pity on Steve and answers him upfront. “It’s a subset of witches, specifically led by,” she glances at Bucky, “The mayor. He’s the second leader they’ve had, and he dethroned the first one, so the whole group sees him as the saviour of their cult.”

“Does the cult have a name?”

“They call themselves the Children of Typhon. Hydra.”

Steve looks a little pale. “I’ve heard him say that, the mayor. He tried to get me to go to one of their meetings, said it was a business meeting.”

“He was trying to recruit you?”

Steve nods, and Bucky sighs. “He didn’t succeed?” Steve nods again.

“Good,” Nat says, “I didn’t think he would, but good.”

“You believe me that easily?”

“I know you, Steve,” she says, eyes narrowing a little at the witch. “Do you really think I don’t know when you’re lying? You’re a terrible liar, first of all.” Steve pouts, but he doesn’t protest, so he clearly knows it’s true.

Bucky goes to stand, gets as far as pushing himself off the sofa before his knees give out and he hits the cushion again with a thud. Nat’s sharp eyes are on him suddenly, and Steve’s hand is on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, but they both ignore him. Steve nudges him back fully onto the couch with a firm grip, and Nat pins him with a stare that keeps him in place.

Without a word she heads for the kitchen again, taking his somehow-empty mug. He hadn’t even noticed he’d been drinking it, honestly, but the tea was gone, leaving only the dregs at the bottom of the mug. “Do you think,” he says before realising how stupid it sounds. But Steve’s looking at him expectantly, and he can almost _hear_ Nat’s attention from the kitchen niche. “The tales of reading tea leaves are true?”

It’s Natasha that laughs, not Steve like he’d expected, rich and throaty and far too amused for Bucky’s ego. “My babushka, she used to do tea leaf readings. She got things right, too, but people are transparent once you know them well enough, and she only ever did readings for her family.”

“So, probably not true,” Steve says. “Unless she was a witch?”

Nat shakes her head, bob-cut swaying a little before she grabs the refilled mug and brings it back. “Not at all. Yadin through and through.” She hands the mug to Bucky. “Drink.”

He doesn’t even try to protest, just takes the mug and cradles it in his hands, warming them. “Was it Sam that ratted me out?”

She gives him one of her trademark looks, then says, “Of course it was. We talk, you know.”

“Gossip,” Bucky mumbles, and Nat hits his shoulder.

“You need to go back to bed,” she says firmly. “With the curtains open. You know the drill.”

He sighs in resignation. “Yes, mom,” he mumbles, and she pinches his cheek like he’s a three-year-old.

“What was that, dear?” she says, and he retorts by sticking his tongue out at her. She pats the top of his head as patronisingly as possible, then stoops to kiss Steve’s cheek before heading for the door. “Call me tomorrow,” she demands, and Bucky nods, still cradling the cup near his face. “And drink.”

With that parting word, she sweeps out of his apartment, leaving only silence in her wake.

Winter barks once, looking put out, and Bucky taps the dog’s nose as a reminder. He looks at Steve, who is looking at him expectantly.

“I’m going to finish my tea,” Bucky says firmly. “Then I am going to stay right here because the light is better.

Steve narrows his eyes, and Bucky rolls his. “I’m not intimidated by you like I am of her.”

Steve’s face is impassive when he says, “Maybe you should be.”

Eyebrows going up, Bucky stares at him for a moment then says, “If you were wanting me to be intimidated by you, you shouldn’t have been unconscious for the first twelve hours of us being in the same space as each other.”

Mask cracking, Steve shakes his head as the amused smile creeps onto his face. “You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“Nope.”

“Drink your tea,” Steve grumbles as he pushes himself to his feet. “While I make lunch.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in which we earn the rating, but at what cost
> 
> (it's early i know i got excited)
> 
> If you're concerned about the dreamsex, check in the end notes!

The thing about being stuck with a person for a few days is that you learn a lot about them. Not just through conversation, though there’s not much to do other than talk when the lights get low, and the stars start their fight with the city smog.

Not just through conversation, but in the way they move, the way they smile at nothing or everything. The way they move around, work in the space you share.

Bucky learns a lot about Steve while he’s recovering.

“Steve,” he says from the couch, almost yells, knows Steve is close but does it to annoy him anyway.

“What,” is the response, and Steve’s head sticks over the back of the couch, one eyebrow raised. He’s pretty when he’s riled up, a thought comes to Bucky unbidden, and he just stares for a second, stares and memorises. Steve makes an annoyed sound and pulls back, but Bucky says his name again at a more reasonable volume, so he hesitates.

Bucky pushes up on one elbow, mentally cursing his stupid weak muscles, and says, “Has Winter been out recently?” Instead of what his wolf is telling him to say.

Steve sighs, says, “Yes Bucky,” like he has the last seven times Bucky’s asked something similar. “An hour ago.”

He says it so patiently, and Bucky feels a little bad for asking so often. But, in his defence, he keeps falling asleep so he has no real idea of what time it is, or how much time has passed. Steve seems to understand.

Steve’s gone from his sight for a few minutes when he lets out a heavy sigh, rolls onto his side. The TV is on, the movie still playing. At this point he’s not sure what it actually is, just knows that Steve’s playing the next one out of his queue when one ends because Netflix thinks he’s fallen asleep – which, to be fair, is completely true.

He flexes his toes, shifts his feet until they’re sticking out of the blanket he’s got burritoed around him. Steve walks past on his way up the hall and flicks the blanket back down.

Bucky pouts. “Steve,” he says, _whines_. Steve stops in the doorway leading to the hall. He doesn’t turn his head, but Bucky knows he’s waiting for him to speak. “Sit with me?” he asks, verging on a plea.

Steve keeps walking, and Bucky fights to hide the sting of rejection. He pulls the blanket up further until it covers his face as well, huffs out an annoyed breath. Winter jumps up onto the couch with him out of nowhere, wedging his fluffy body between Bucky and the back of the couch. He has to move, wiggle out of the way with a near-continuous grumble until Winter licks the side of his head and settles in for a nap. Bucky’s never been good at saying no to the colossal dog.

A minute later, he yelps as his feet get lifted, regretting trapping himself in the blankets when he struggles to sit up again, pinned half by cloth, half by his dog. The couch dips, then his feet are being dropped onto something warm, and he manages to get the top of his head out of the blankets enough to look down.

Steve’s got Bucky’s feet in his lap and is resting a blank notepad – a sketchpad, Bucky tells himself – against Bucky’s ankles. He glances up as Bucky goes still, shoots him a little smile. “This okay?” He asks, and he genuinely means it too, Bucky knows he’ll move the second Bucky says no.

Bucky doesn’t say no.

He nods in a movement that’s so quick it’s almost jerky, then can’t help himself, says, “You gonna draw me?” He aims for teasing, misses the mark by a mile.

“Nope,” Steve says, and Bucky huffs, but goes back to his movie with a smile on his face.

Bucky’s finally drawn into the movie that’s on - something about a witch being hunted by the government for hiding Yadin - when he feels Steve shift under his feet. He grumbles in wordless protest when something hits his head.

He bats at it and his fingers catch at the paper that’s been tossed his way, carefully unfolding it and smoothing it out.

It takes him a few seconds of blinking at it before his eyes focus properly, and when they do he can’t help but grin, hiding it in the blanket pulled to his chin.

It’s him – well, sort of. It’s a blanket rolled up tight around something vaguely human, hair tufting out the top in a way that would be insulting if Bucky wasn’t incredibly aware of how daft he looks. Winter’s sprawled out on top, almost cartoonish in the way he’s lying even though it’s not far from realist. He looks at Steve out of the corner of his eye, sees the man smiling down at his sketchpad as he works on something else. His pencil is moving in smooth lines and it’s almost entrancing, the gentle brush of pencil only just audible over the low murmur of the movie.

He folds it again, oh so careful not to create another crease, and manages to free an arm enough to gently set the paper on the coffee table.

Steve’s smile grows at the other end of the couch.

**

It takes a few days for Bucky’s strength to fully return, and he celebrates by actually leaving the house. Not that Steve is impressed with this decision by the way he’s standing in the doorway when Bucky returns.

“You were supposed to be sleeping,” he says darkly, and Bucky holds up his shopping bags in response.

“I had to,” he says. “Winter was running out of food.”

“Tell me that the only thing in that bag is pet food and I’ll let it slide.”

Bucky blinks. Steve is… kind of hot when he’s mad, he realises with a start, and he doesn’t even notice he’s staring until Steve clears his throat and says, “Didn’t think so.”

Bucky steps forward a little, and Steve moves out of the doorway to let him through. He feels the weight of Steve’s eyes on him as he walks through to the kitchen, a thud announcing Winter’s arrival from Bucky’s bedroom.

“Hey bud,” Bucky says quietly, dropping one hand to Winter’s head. “You know what I’ve got, don’t you?”

Winter makes a noise that’s not quite a bark, sitting next to his food bowl. Bucky drops his head forward with a bemused sigh. “Not quite,” he says. “This is for dinner, not for now.”

Winter stares at him, choosing not to understand, and Bucky sighs, caving. He grabs a rawhide chew out of the bag and tosses it to the dog, who attempts to snap it out of the air and misses completely. The treat skids across the tile and Winter goes chasing after it, then everything goes quiet, and Bucky realises Steve hasn’t followed him as he’d expected. He turns to face the living space and realises why.

Steve’s not alone in the living room. He’s flanked by a few men, one of whom is the guy they’d faced off with in the park – Brady? Bronson? Brock? – and the one in the middle is the man Bucky could never see again and it’d be too soon.

“James Barnes,” says the Mayor, voice coolly pleasant. Like this is a business meeting, not a home invasion in progress. “Good to see you again.” He fixes his tie so it lies flat against his suit – grey on grey, like every other one the man has.

“Ever heard of knocking? Or better yet, throwing yourself off the top of my building?”

The Mayor tsks at him, shaking his head slightly. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”

“You broke into my home, you’re lucky it’s only hostile _words_ you’re facing,” Bucky retorts, one hand dropping to the edge of the island’s counter. He grips it tightly, pressing small indents into the Formica. “Explain yourself.”

“Well,” The Mayor started, “We have a warrant to investigate the property. You see, one of my interns had gone missing and we had reason to believe you were holding him here against his will.”

“Well,” Bucky retorts, mocking. “He quit, and he’s not here against his will, he’s here because he’s realised what you really are.” He pauses. “Other than an asshole, of course.” His mind is racing – the fact that the Mayor apparently has a warrant, but no cops with him, shows exactly how far up his ass the police departments are.

One of the mayor’s eye’s twitches and Bucky smiles slightly. “And what is that?” he asks, and Bucky shrugs in response.

“A genocidal cult leader.” Steve’s voice cuts in before Bucky can say anything, then winces, grabbing at his side. “First the Yadin, now the wolves, what’s next? The bears? Any witch that doesn’t bow to you?”

Bucky steps forward as the Mayor raises his hand, catching the man’s wrist with metal fingers as he goes to hit Steve. “That’s not something you want to do,” he says, and it comes out sharper as his wolf starts to surface at the threat to his chosen.

“You-” the Mayor starts, but Bucky cuts him off.

“This is wolf territory, you have no jurisdiction here,” he bites out. “Take yourself and your goons and get out of my home. You are not welcome here.”

“You can’t-” The mayor tries again.

“Only my pack has the right to be here without my invitation. You are not my pack, and you are not here by my choice, leave.” Bucky squeezes his hand before letting go of the Mayor’s wrist.

“Fine,” the Mayor says, and there’s something in his eyes that Bucky doesn’t like, doesn’t trust in the slightest. “I’ll take what’s mine and go.”

Bucky realises a second too late, lunging forward to get a hand on Steve before someone in the Mayor’s group teleports them out.

He’s not fast enough.

He hits the ground with a thud, alone apart from Winter, Steve whisked away before Bucky could reach him, do _anything_ to interrupt the teleport.

The wolf shoves forward, overtaking his mind as the man reels in shock, and he’s lifting his head, howling, hoping to hear a reply. Winter joins in as soon as Bucky’s let himself shift, as soon as the clothing keeping him in his human form are out of the way. He paces, howls again, low and mournful. The windows are open, so he picks up the reply from a few of the wolves scattered around the area, but none are the one he’s looking for.

**

“He took Steve.”

Bucky’s voice is hoarse, and he knows he looks like shit. His wolf is clawing at him, pushing at his control, and Sam steps back a little – though he’s not sure if that’s just because Bucky hasn’t showered yet or not.

“Calm down buddy, c’mon. Breathe. Wolf-you can’t speak, so you gotta stay on two legs for now.”

Bucky growls, but this time Sam holds his ground. Sam’s magic washes over him, petrichor rubbing his senses the wrong way as his wolf demands ozone, the tang of lightning. Bucky takes a breath, forces himself to hold it, then let it out slowly. “Sorry,” he says quietly.

“Tell us what happened,” Nat says in that way of hers, calming yet steely enough to make him actually answer.

“The Mayor has a Voyager. Must have, they appeared in my living room a few seconds after I walked through it.”

“Shit,” Sam mutters, and Bucky agrees.

“The guy who cornered us in the park was there, plus a few others. They grabbed Steve before I knew they were there. We had words, they ‘ported out with Steve still in their midst. They were here five, maybe six minutes total?”

Nat’s frowning as she drums her fingers on the table. “If they have a Voyager they could be anywhere,” she says, “But I doubt they’ll be far. I wouldn’t bet on them being further out than Jersey.”

“Why?” Sam asks with a raised eyebrow, “Why are you so sure about that?”

“The Mayor has three homes in New York City. Two in Manhattan, one on Staten Island. My bets are on the Staten Island property, he hasn’t got it listed in any of his tax records. Technically, his wife owns it.”

“How do you know this?” Bucky asks, before snapping his mouth shut as he realises what a stupid question that was. “Never mind. How do we _find_ Steve, then? Make sure he’s there?”

Sam gives him a look that’s far too calculating for Bucky’s liking, but he says, “We just need to get close. Your wolf will do the rest.”

Bucky snaps his teeth but it’s barely a protest, knowing Sam’s right. His wolf has latched onto the smell of Steve, the way his magic feels. He’ll know, no matter what they do to Steve.

“I,” he says, then stops, tries again. “We don’t know what they’re doing to him. We need to move.”

Despite the urgency he can feel in her, Nat shakes her head. “We need to have enough to bring him down first,” she says. Bucky’s wolf snarls. “We can’t live like this anymore. He needs to go, and his whole damned cult with him.” Her eyes flick back to Bucky. “First,” she says, and a single, delicate claw flicks out of one of her fingers. “If his Voyager is locking onto you, we need to stop that from happening.”

Bucky sighs, knowing she’s right, and sticks his chin out, tipping his head to expose his cheek. A line of fire kisses his cheek, red hot, then pain radiates out and he hisses in a breath. Blood drips down, and he scowls, moving back into the kitchen to grab a paper towel to at least stop it from getting onto the carpet.

“Did it have to be so long,” he grumbles under his breath, knowing Nat can hear him. Then, louder, “Did you at least make it deep enough to scar?”

She snorts, looking affronted. “Of course,” she says with a sweet little smile. “Good thing Steve likes his men more rugged.”

That has Bucky choking on his own spit, fingers almost slipping off the new cut in his cheek. “What? No,” he says, and even _Sam_ is giving him an unimpressed look.

“Your wolf has chosen,” Nat says with a shrug. “Our other selves are rarely wrong.”

“How did you-” Bucky starts, but Nat just raises an eyebrow.

“I could smell it on him. You’re more possessive then even the other alpha wolves I’ve met. Have you even talked to him about this?”

Bucky frowns, shakes his head a little. “No, and I’m not going to. The wolf can suck it.”

There’s a snicker from Sam’s direction. “Oh, I’m sure it wants to,” he gets out before both he and Nat are cackling. It doesn’t last long though, the reason that Steve’s not there sinking back in.

“If we go to the property,” Nat starts, “Will you be able to keep yourself in check? We can’t be bursting in, we just need to verify whether he’s there or not.”

After a moment of hesitation, Bucky nods. “Probably. I called you instead of going straight to his office and knocking the door down, so.”

Sam snickers at that, shakes his head slightly. “Will your wolfy side let you leave without rescuing him if he is there?”

“Not gracefully, that’s for sure,” Bucky mumbles under his breath. “I’ll be fine. I’m nearly two hundred years old, I think I’ve learned how to control all parts of myself by now.”

Nat gives him a serious look, cupping his cheeks for a second. “You’re almost two hundred, but you’ve never had your wolf choose someone. It’s always been your choice, before now. Don’t expect it to feel the same.”

Bucky glares at her for a second before sagging into the seat. “I’ll work it out when I- _we’ve_ got him back.”

Nat nods, glances at Sam, who stands and crosses the space to sit with them both on the couch. “I know I’m not the witch you want,” Sam says with a grin and Bucky rolls his eyes. “But we’re your pack as much as any wolf is. Lean on us for a bit, okay?”

Bucky sighs, loud and overdramatic, but something in him settles when Sam sits beside him, shoulder pressing into Bucky’s. Nat drops into the spot on his other side and Bucky’s second sigh is almost one of relief. Sure, the tension won’t fully leave him until he has Steve back with him, but his wolf uncurls somewhat from its ball of misery, and something in Bucky’s chest cracks loose.

His next exhale is shaky, unexpectedly so, and he gets out a wobbly “I” before he has to stop, look down at his hands.

“We know,” Sam says, rubs his shoulder with a hand, and Bucky laughs, short and sudden.

“I’ve only known him what, a week? Two? How is it this bad?”

Nat smiles a little sadly. “Wolves have always felt more strongly than humans,” she says. “Why would this be any different?”

**

In the end, Sam has to knock him out to keep him from storming into the Mayor’s Staten Island residence, and the last thing Bucky remembers is the strong feeling of _wrongness_ coming from the place, and the apologetic look on Sam’s face as he begins to cast.

**

When Bucky opens his eyes, he knows something isn’t right. Everything feels slightly off like someone’s moved everything in his house a few inches to the left, and it’s making his skin crawl. He stands, his eyes skittering around the living area that simultaneously feels smaller and bigger than it should. The whole place is heavy with expectation, making him itch, and he heads for the bedroom to start a full sweep of the apartment, pushing the bounds of whatever is holding him there.

The first thing he notices is that Winter isn’t there. His bowls are, his leash is on the table, but the giant floof isn’t anywhere to be seen. Nothing looks out of place, there’s no random portal in the spare bedroom or anything, just that itching feeling of wrongness, and of expectation.

He hears a sound from the living room and goes back out, eyes widening when he sees Steve on the couch, reading like he’d been there all along. “Hey,” Steve says without looking up and turns another page. When Bucky leans over the back of the couch, the words on the page are all jumbled if he focuses too hard, but as soon as he relaxes, let’s whatever-this-is happen, they start to make sense, even though the words themselves don’t change.

Dream, then.

Before Bucky can speak, Steve’s picking up a bookmark out of nowhere, settling it between the pages and snapping the book closed. Then he’s twisting at the waist until they’re nose to nose, bracing an arm on the back of the couch. Warm fingers tangle in his hair, right at the nape of his neck, then Steve’s mouth is on his.

The surprise only lasts a few seconds, and Steve is patient, waiting him out. Bucky would have to be a stronger man to resist. Steve’s magic is like spice on his tongue, flickering bite, and Bucky chases it, lets it blend with the heat of Steve’s mouth as he cups Steve’s jaw in both hands.

Steve breaks away with a gasp, grown spreading across his lips. “Of course you’re here,” he murmurs, and his voice is scratchy.

“Where else would I be?” Bucky asks, giving in and playing along with the dream, with the Steve his subconscious has granted him. Steve grins, absolute delight on his face at the answer, and Bucky’s immediately being tugged forward again. Steve’s mouth brushes over his, light, then Bucky’s murmuring, “Mind if I distract you from your book?”

“I think you already have,” is the snarky reply against his jaw, teeth scraping against the blade of it before Steve presses a kiss to the spot.

A shiver runs through him before he can reply, and he feels Steve grin against his skin. He tugs with his grip at Bucky’s nape and Bucky lets himself be pulled until he’s almost awkwardly hanging over the back of the sofa. Steve seems pleased though, mouth meandering its way down the now-taut line of Bucky’s throat. “I can come around,” Bucky says, and it’s hoarser than it should be, but he can’t really blame himself.

“Kinda like you stuck,” Steve says against his throat, but he lets go, sits back against the arm of the chair and looks up at Bucky expectantly. Bucky considers walking around, then pushes himself upright, and vaults himself over the back of the couch. It rocks ominously but Steve’s weight keeps it in place.

Steve’s laugh is delighted as he reaches up, and Bucky finds himself tugged forward until he’s braced over a very willing witch. “Mmm, this is better though,” Steve says as he slides a hand around his waist, sneaks it up the back of Bucky’s shirt. Steve’s fingers on his skin make him shiver, wolf shoving forward to try and take more, to roll in the touch of Steve. He bites at Steve’s chin instead, a sharp little nip as he resettles himself properly in Steve’s lap.

Steve’s eyes widen a little, pupils blown out, and Bucky plants his hands firmly on Steve’s chest, grabbing handfuls of pec as he sits up, looks down at Steve. The hands on his back slide to his hips, grip, then push upwards, leaving trails of heat as Bucky’s shirt gets bunched up. Steve sits up, a move that has all of the muscles in his chest and stomach flex deliciously even through his shirt. Bucky’s distracted, hands sliding down Steve’s chest to chase the shifting muscle, that he doesn’t realise his shirt is that far up until Steve’s kissing his jaw, murmuring “hands up,” in a voice that’s already sounding wrecked.

Bucky reluctantly let’s go so Steve can pull his shirt off, and as soon as the fabric has released him Bucky’s pushing Steve flat, bringing out a claw, and slicing through the material of Steve’s shirt. “I liked that shirt,” Steve says, but he’s grinning despite the kiss of claw against his skin, so Bucky leans forward and kisses that smile off his mouth.

“You’ve got ten that look the same,” Bucky says into his mouth. “Besides, you’ll like this more,” he adds with a quirk of his eyebrow as he pulls back a little. In case Steve missed his implication, Bucky squeezes his knees tighter against Steve’s waist and rolls his hips once in a smooth movement.

Steve’s breath punches out of him, hands going tight where they’re holding onto his hips, and at first, Bucky thinks its to hold him still but then Steve pulls his hips in tight, rolling his own in response. He’s hard already – _god_ Bucky loves dreams – and big enough that Bucky wants to ask if that’s what he’s got in the waking world too. But he doesn’t want to be thrown out of the dream, so he keeps his thoughts to himself, so he focuses on shoving the scraps of shirt away from Steve’s skin.

Steve doesn’t seem inclined to help, either. He seems far too focused on working his fingers under the waistband of Bucky’s pants. Bucky leans forward to get his mouth on Steve’s skin, trailing kisses down Steve’s throat before biting at his collarbones to leave as many marks as possible.

“Damn it, Buck,” Steve mumbled as the position gives him less room to work with, fingers wedged into Bucky’s waistband where it’s come away from Bucky’s skin, but no further. Bucky decides to give dream logic a go, and thinks about being naked in Steve’s lap, focuses on it and _wants_ it into existence.

At first, nothing happens, then suddenly the pressure on his dick is relieved, and Steve’s shocked noise has him smiling against Steve’s skin. “Hardly fair,” is the comment from above his head, but Steve’s hands are already on his ass. “Maybe I wanted to go slow.”

“Next time,” Bucky says without thinking, and Steve goes quiet above him. He lifts his head, and the expression on Steve’s face is sombre, almost like he knows that this is all in Bucky’s head. His dreams have never been _self-aware_ before, and it’s odd, has Bucky thrown for a loop before he gets himself back on track.

Leaning up, he presses a kiss to Steve’s lips, just grazes it across his frown, and says, “Next time,” again. “Next time you can go as slow as you want, anywhere you want. As long as I get you all to myself.” He brushes the words over Steve’s lips and Steve’s hands tighten with every word until they’re borderline painful, until he cuts off the final word by pressing their lips together.

This kiss is like Steve’s drowning, like Bucky’s the only thing he needs to survive, the only thing he _wants_ , and Bucky falls into it, falls into _him_. Steve’s hands slide up his back and they make Bucky feel small, protected, and he shivers in Steve’s hold.

“Cold?” Steve asks as he breaks the kiss, and Bucky’s about to reply when Steve adds, “I can warm you up,” as the fabric between them melts away.

“Oh,” is all Bucky can get out, instinctively dropping his hips and rolling them in a short little movement.

Steve’s hands make their way back to his hips, and he says, “Tell me what you want,” like he’s begging, like the only thing he ever wants in life is to give Bucky what _he_ wants.

Bucky pushes himself up a little, so he can look down at Steve, take in the absolute _want_ on his face. “I want to ride you,” he says, unashamed. “I want you so deep that I forget what it’s like when you’re not there.”

Steve goes tense under him for a second, then it passes as he grabs the back of Bucky’s head, drags him in for another kiss. His other hand is back on Bucky’s ass, kneading lightly, then his fingers are sliding down, rubbing against Bucky’s hole lightly. Between one second and the next, they’re slick, dripping onto his skin, and Bucky shivers from the cold of it. There’s an apology on Steve’s lips, then he’s kissing Bucky again as that finger slowly presses in.

Bucky can’t help but gasp into Steve’s mouth, eyes rolling back just a little as everything in his body focuses on that point of pressure, the hot pleasure-pain incomparable to anything else Bucky’s felt.

“Been a while?” Steve asks and Bucky nudges him with one knee, letting out a hoarse laugh that turns into a moan as Steve’s finger slides deeper. Bucky’s head drops forward, hanging loose on his neck as Steve slides his finger out, then presses back in. Before long there’s a second finger nudging at him, and he nods as much as he can against Steve’s cheek. It presses in and he shudders, pressing his mouth against Steve’s jaw before nuzzling his way back up to Steve’s mouth, kissing him slowly.

Two fingers become three, then Steve’s curling them, seeking, and Bucky can’t help the noise he makes. It’s a cross between a moan and a shout, shakier than both, and Steve responds by doing it again. His breathing is harsh in Bucky’s ear, hot, and Bucky clenches down, rolls his hips, _demands_ without speaking until Steve gets the idea and slowly pulls his fingers out.

“This what you want?” Steve says, and despite his tone, Bucky has a distinct feeling that he’s checking in again. Bucky drags his lips over Steve’s jaw then pushes himself upright.

He lets his head fall back, hands braced on Steve’s perfect chest, and says, “I want it, please,” as Steve’s hand gets tighter on his hip.

“Take it, then,” he says, and Bucky isn’t about to make him ask twice.

Wet fingers drag up his chest as he reaches back, but when he gets Steve in hand, he can’t help himself, stroking it once, twice. “Buck,” Steve says, and it’s not a warning – not yet. Bucky hums, does it once more just to feel the twitch of the cock in his hand before shifting his hips and fitting the head to his hole.

As he lets his hips drop he groans, delicious pressure turning into pleasure as the head of Steve’s cock finally nudges past the rim. He takes it slow, rocking his hips in little twitches, and Steve’s grip tightens on his hip, fingers digging into the skin.

“God,” Steve says on a gasp, “ _fuck_ you’re tight,” and Bucky just moans in response, getting a little further down on Steve’s cock.

He’s all but holding his breath as he gets the last inch inside him, air pushed out of him as his ass hits Steve’s thighs. Sagging forward, Bucky braces his hands on Steve’s chest, holding still as he forces himself to breathe somewhat regularly. Each inhale pushes him down a little on the cock buried in him and he twitches, sparks of pleasure flicking through him with every instinctive twitch of his hips. Steve’s hands start to move, soothing little strokes up and down his sides. Bucky’s pretty sure that, if this is what Steve’s packing in the waking world, it’d take him twice as long to even get onto it, but he’s not about to complain.

Opening eyes that had flickered shut, Bucky looks down at Steve, takes in the wide eyes and wild hair. He rocks his hips and watches as Steve’s throat bobs on a swallow, then does it again to watch the clench of muscle all the way down Steve’s chest as he clearly holds himself still. All of that power contained just for Bucky has him whining in the back of his throat, high on knowing that all of that focus is on him, all that Steve has, he’s holding back for _Bucky_. He rocks his hips again, then again, slowly building up a rhythm until Steve’s hands grab at his hips, just holding on.

He has no doubt that if Steve wanted it, Bucky would be on his back getting pounded hard enough to feel it in his throat. As a reward for giving Bucky control, for keeping himself in check, Bucky lifts his hips, and his eyes screw shut at the sparks of pleasure that drag sends through him. He gasps, soft, then drops back down fast only to do it again.

After that, he’s not about to slow down.

It doesn’t take him long to be rising fully onto his knees, the head of Steve’s cock still in him, then he drops fast, breath kicked out of him at the soft slap of the impact. Once, twice more, then Steve’s grabbing his hips tighter, rocking up to meet him. He leans back a little, braces his hands on Steve’s thighs and almost shakes himself to pieces as Steve’s cock hits his prostate on the next thrust down, startled little moan escaping. Bucky fully gives into his body then, rising up only for Steve the meet him on the downstroke, moans falling almost continually from his mouth.

“I’m,” he bites out before whimpering at a particularly hard thrust, body trembling as sparks spread under his skin. It’s like the shift, but more _human_ , magic in his bones and want in his blood that has him trembling.

Steve takes over, holding him still and keeping him upright as he pounds up into him. Bucky curls forward, hands landing on Steve’s chest again, barely holding himself up as his arms shake, and Steve’s voice cuts through the sounds they’re making. “I wanna see you come,” Steve says in a voice like honey, thick and heavy. “I want to see you lose it.”

Bucky’s helpless to resist. As the sparks under his skin start to coalesce Bucky shifts his hand, gets one on his own cock and strokes roughly. It’s almost enough, almost, and when Bucky whines it’s pitchy, broken up.

Steve seems to understand anyway and shifts his grip, one hand curling around Bucky’s on his cock and guiding his hand faster, squeezing it a little tighter. On Steve’s next thrust up the winding tension in his gut finally snaps and he throws his head back, sobbing out an approximation of Steve’s name as he comes, and comes, and _comes_. Steve’s hand squeezes, thumb rubbing at the sensitive head of his cock, milking him as the thrusts slow.

Bucky’s hindbrain can’t have that, and he gasps out, “In me, please come in me,” uncaring of how wrecked he sounds. He clenches down on Steve’s cock unconsciously, little shaking spasms running through him, and Steve thrusts up like he can’t help it, eyes wide.

A few more thrusts and Steve’s grinding in close, breath hitching up and up and up until Bucky feels the kick of his cock, the warmth spreading. Bucky’s own cock jerks weakly, another dribble of come leaking out, and Steve gasps as Bucky’s muscles clench instinctively.

There’s a quiet moment between them, just heavy breathing and the odd soft whimper from Bucky’s lips, and then Steve’s sliding the hand on Bucky’s hip up, coaxing him down.

Bucky sags forward at the encouragement, keeps his hand tight on his cock as his mouth meets Steve’s. It’s not what he expects, the kiss soft and thankful and _god_ but there’s something else in it too, something warm that feels a lot like-

Bucky cuts the thought off there, refusing to let himself consider what he’s projecting onto dream-Steve, and pull back a little to nuzzle his lips over Steve’s jaw.

Steve’s lips are at his ear, and at first, it’s just the sound of their breathing, until, _until_ , Steve speaks into the quiet.

“I wish this was real.”

Bucky’s so startled that as he sits up to look at Steve, the dream fades away.

He wakes up in his own bed.

Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> The dreamsex occurs in a shared dream, where neither Steve nor Bucky are aware that it's shared. They are both willing and clearly consenting the entire time, however it is not addressed in the waking world in this chapter (as it will be addressed later on).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a slightly longer one, and a few days early, before my family demands the majority of my attention for two days. happy holidays everyone!

Bucky knows he’s being ridiculous.

He knows he should be getting up, doing something about getting Steve free, but he can hear his friends moving around deeper in the house and doesn’t want to face them.

He’s still in his damp sweatpants, cold come sticking the fabric to his thighs. It’s starting to get tacky, and every time he moves he can feel the pull on the hairs on his legs, making him wince with even the smallest of twitches.

And that’s the reason _why_ he doesn’t want to crawl out of his hole just yet – he’d come in his pants, in his _sleep_ , to a dream about the person he’s supposed to be rescuing. He wants more, his body craving Steve’s touch as his wolf luxuriates in the muscle strain, in the feel of sex. The worst part of the whole thing is – Bucky can’t bring himself to regret it.

So he keeps the pillow over his head, keeps himself hunkered down, and refuses to acknowledge the world for a little while longer.

Eventually, his guilt wins out, the fact that his moping means Steve’s stuck in that place even a _second_ longer than he has to is grating on him, adding to the pile of things he has to atone for.

He shoves the covers off, swings his feet to the floor, and winces at the tug against hair that should probably never be tugged. He grabs sweatpants off the clean clothes pile and shuffles his way to the door, sneaking it open and making it across the hallway without being spotted.

In his own home.

There’s the red tinge of shame on his cheeks as he stares at himself in the bathroom mirror, but he pokes his chin, rubs his eyes, and starts the shower.

The pants make it off with only mild cursing, then Bucky’s throwing a towel over the top of the door and swinging it shut behind him.

The steam makes him feel better, as does the lack of stickiness, and by the time he’s walking down the hall in clean sweatpants, he’s feeling more like himself. The guilt is still simmering under the surface and will probably rear its head when Steve’s back with him, but for now he’s got a lid on it.

“Finally,” Sam says, muffled slightly by the towel over Bucky’s head. He keeps scrubbing it over his hair until he’s happy with it, making his way through the open area and finding the coffee pot unerringly. Sam lets out an impressed little whistle as Bucky manages to find the cup, capsules, and milk with the towel obstructing his vision, and get the coffee started before removing the towel.

“Sam thought he’d actually hurt you,” Nat says from her perch on the island, and Bucky had long ago stopped trying to stop her sitting there. “You were out longer than he intended.”

“It probably just turned into sleep,” Bucky says without mentioning anything about dreams, impressively real-feeling or otherwise. He cradles the milk frother in his hands, watching as the little machine spun with an almost deadly focus. “What did you find out after getting my dumb ass out of the way?”

“Your reaction told us he was there,” Sam starts. “So we walked the perimeter, got a feel for the security there.”

“It’s a lot,” Nat picks up the story as Bucky assembles his drink. “Cameras and human guards at all of the ground floor entrances. The second-floor entry points that I could see had cameras pointed their way as well, we’ll be hard-pressed to get in there.”

Bucky huffs out a breath as he takes his cup in both hands, moving it to the island before wiping everything down. Once he’s put his machine back together and ready for the next use, he grabs his cup and leans back against the island to sip at it. “So, what’s your plan?” he asks, confident in the two of them. They don’t let him down.

“They’re witches, think like witches,” Nat says with a twitch of her lips, one that has the potential to be a smile. “Think no one else is anywhere near as smart as them. An EMP would take the cameras out. I couldn’t see any generators or anything, but if they had one in a basement you’d still have a good five, maybe ten minutes until they worked out the cameras were out and got the backup going.”

“What’s the reasoning for _me_ going in?” is Bucky’s next question, raising an eyebrow as he looks at the two of them. “I’d be more likely to hunt everyone in there than to get in, get out.”

Natasha gives him a look. “Because you’ll find Steve the fastest. Your instincts will be pulling you to him, and then all he needs to do is ask you to get him out. Even if you’re half-feral your wolf will obey.”

“Because it’s _him_ ,” Bucky finishes the sentence for her with a sigh, and Nat echoes it smugly.

“You might as well give in,” Nat adds, patting his shoulder once before letting him go. “When’s the last time you felt something as strong as this?”

Bucky stares into his coffee. “Never,” he admits, voice small. “That doesn’t mean he’ll want anything to do with me. Not after I got him kidnapped by his own mentor,” he adds, voice turning bitter as he talks. “The mentor that taught him to hate werewolves, I might add.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Sam says immediately.

Bucky shrugs. “Stockholm syndrome, probably. When are we moving?”

The look Nat gives him is full of sympathy, but she’s at least kind enough not to let it morph into pity. “Given the way you reacted, we need to go in sooner rather than later, or you’re more likely to go feral once you’re in there.”

That has Bucky’s eyebrows going up. “You’re confident enough in my ability not to get us all caught?” He asks, and if there’s a touch of incredulity in the question no one mentions it. “We’ll be in jail before the night is out.”

Nat shakes her head slightly. “You really think I haven’t planned for that?” She’s got Bucky’s attention again, the sharp focus of his wolf, too. “Because the mayor hasn’t got this place on his public record, he can’t claim it as his in a police investigation. While you were napping I made a few calls. The boys in blue will be unusually unresponsive tonight for anything coming out of that property.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to give _her_ a look, a perfect copy of the one she’s given him so many times. “Natasha,” he says. “You didn’t.”

“The captain is a friend,” is all she says in response. “He knows I’m investigating something. He’s willing to let me continue investigating it.”

“Nat,” he says, softer, and she gives him a shrug, as if it’s no big deal to put her career, her _life_ on the line like this.

“Don’t get caught,” she replies. “I know you can if you want to.”

Bucky scowls into his mug, but sips at it without arguing.

**

They spend the entire day drawing up a more concrete plan. Natasha produces two small EMP devices about three hours in, after a coffee run, and just shrugs when Bucky and Sam look at her in surprise.

“I know a guy,” she says, and that’s the end of that. Not that Bucky had doubted her, and he didn’t think Sam had either.

It’s about three in the afternoon when Bucky feels a flicker of something at the back of his mind. At first, he pushes it away, but it comes back a few minutes later, sharper, sending pain lancing through his head.

He stops mid-sentence, pressing his fingers to his temples, and Nat’s almost immediately looking at him in concern.

“Bucky,” Sam says, and he sounds as worried as Nat looks. “Everything alright?”

He hesitates as the feeling fades to little more than a presence in the back of his mind. Taking a breath, he stills, smell of ozone a siren song to his wolf. “It… Steve?”

He looks around, but there’s nothing out of place, and Nat takes a breath, frown deepening. “I can’t smell him, no more than I could already at least.”

“I can,” Bucky says, eyes wide as he presses the heels of his hands to his head. “It’s like something is just. There, in the back of my head.”

Nat hums, fingers drumming on the table before she steps around the sharp corner, puts her hand to Bucky’s forehead. He bats it away with one hand, takes a step back. There’s another push in his head, more delicate this time like the first had been an accident, and Bucky goes still. “Sam,” he says quietly, immediately has the man’s attention. “Witches who can telepath. How do they ask permission?”

Nat’s eyebrows go up and Sam’s drop down, but the man answers, “They ‘knock’ in your mind. To a wolf that probably feels like-”

“Getting punched,” Bucky finishes.

“So you think Steve’s ‘pathing you?” Nat says cautiously. “Did you know he could?”

“No.” Bucky hesitates, adds, “I don’t know a lot about what he can do. I never asked.”

Nat purses her lips, and Bucky knows better than to try and talk himself out of her ire. “You didn’t think to ask the witch that was, directly or indirectly, responsible for hurting your pack?”

Bucky shrugs, refusing to back down. “It didn’t seem relevant at the time,” he says. There’s another ping in his head, _knock_ , just like Sam had said.

“So you don’t know if it’s him, or if it’s someone using his magic signature to get to you?”

Bucky bares his teeth at the implication that he doesn’t know the scent of his own chosen. Nat stares back at him.

“I can’t _not_ answer,” he says eventually, another knock, this one more impatient, flickering in his mind. “It’s _him_ , I know it.”

When Natasha looks ready to argue Sam steps forward, getting between them. “Okay,” he says, nudging Bucky backwards by stepping into his space. “If you’re going to, make sure you sit down. Don’t look at the table, don’t think about what’s on it. Just in case.” Bucky’s knees hit the couch and he drops onto it, immediately closing his eyes as he falls back against it.

“How do I…?” He asks, and Sam’s voice replies from the spot next to him as the couch cushion dips.

“Relax, reach back out to him. Complete the connection. He’ll do the rest.”

“It’s not permanent?” Nat asks, snaps, and there’s a beat of silence. Bucky doesn’t bother opening his eyes, just breathes slowly, wills his body to relax.

“No,” Sam says aloud, “It won’t be.”

Bucky knows in his heart that he’d do it regardless of Sam’s answer. He lets himself reach out, gasps when something touches back, latches on and _pulls_ and Bucky’s helpless to do anything but follow.

At first, he’s lost, unseeing in darkness, then he blinks and things around him start to come into focus. Legs in front of him, and he blinks until he realises that it’s his head hanging down, that the legs are his own. Sort of.

His head lifts without his say-so, and there’s a quiet, “Bucky?” spoken into the dark room. “Why does it feel like- Bucky?”

A door cracks open out of view, and Bucky cranes his neck but his field of view doesn’t change.

“What are you babbling on about?” A harsh voice, and Bucky feels the flinch before he knows it’s happening.

A snarl rises unbidden, but Bucky can’t hear it, just listens as Steve’s voice cracks out, “Fuck off, Brock.”

The crack of skin on skin, a flare of pain over Bucky’s cheek, and he snarls again, but nothing comes out. Steve though, Steve spits, and the hiss of annoyance from the other witch is sharper than it has right to be.

The sound of footsteps, then a door slamming, and the light in the room drops off again into inky blackness.

“Bucky,” Steve says again after a moment, and Bucky focuses, tries to speak but nothing comes out. “First my dreams,” Steve mutters, and that’s enough to have Bucky frozen, mind racing. “Now, here. God, _why_ -” Steve cuts himself off, sighs.

“Just in case I’m not completely making this up and it’s not all in my head, Bucky, I’m fine. Fine enough, at least. I’m not sure where I am, they ‘ported me right here. Dark room, basement, maybe? With Nat around, I doubt it’ll take you long to work out where _here_ is. Um.” A pause and Bucky can hear a chain clinking slightly behind him – them if he’s reading this right and he is in Steve’s head.

_You called me_ , He wants to say, but he can’t get the words out of his mouth. _You brought me here_.

“There are about forty men here, they sleep in shifts. Going by the noises they make, shift change is during dinner, one group eats then goes to relieve the other. They uh. They don’t want to hurt me too much, they want to control me again. Make me one of them.” Another pause like he’s weighing things up. “I don’t know what they’ve got planned, but they must know by now I won’t go willingly, so I doubt it’s pretty.”

He takes a breath then goes quiet, and Bucky goes on alert. “They’re coming,” Steve whispers. “If you’re here, you need to go. I don’t know if they-”

Steve goes quiet again, mouth shutting with a click, and the door swings open again. Bucky gets a glimpse of armed men before something shoves at him, and he falls back, the connection between them snapping.

He opens his eyes, gasps in a breath, and Nat’s standing over him immediately, Sam’s hand on his shoulder.

“He,” Bucky gets out, coughs. “It was him. He didn’t realise he’d called me, but he worked out I was there.”

“And?” Sam prompts, and Bucky rubs his face, groans softly.

“He doesn’t know where he is. He’s chained up, but they’ve given him a chair I think. Forty guards total, sleep in shifts, with the change during dinner. They want him alive an unharmed, but on their side. He’s,” the word sticks in his throat, and Bucky swallows. “Afraid. Trying not to be. He thinks they have a way to force him though he doesn’t know what.”

Bucky looks up, takes a deep breath. “We need to get him out of there. Fast.”

**

They go in that night.

Sam’s sitting on the roof of their car, eyes closed as his magic streams out, reading heat signatures and god knows what else.

“Second floor, there’s only one window on the east side of the house,” Sam says in a voice that’s almost trance-like. “No one’s there, they don’t go there unless they need to.” Bucky nods, strips off his shirt. He’s not about to go breaking into a secured house without pants on, so they stay, but a shirt wouldn’t offer him much protection, it’d only get in the way when he needs to shift.

He shakes himself out, then shifts from foot to foot on the cold ground, waiting for Natasha’s nod. “Fifteen seconds, then it’ll knock everything out. You’ll have fifteen minutes before the effect fades, but if they’ve got a generator it’ll be less, so be fast.”

Another nod, and Bucky’s moving, jogging down the side of the property and finding the window he needs. He counts to fifteen, sees the lights flicker and turn off, then he’s climbing up the fence and vaulting directly from the top of it to the window.

His fingers catch onto the ledge easily, feet making a soft thud as the rest of him makes it across the gap. He shifts his grip, flicks out a claw, and pries the window open before slipping inside.

His wolf, already pulling tight against the grip he has on it, lunges to the forefront as he takes his first deep breath in. He can smell Steve, his fear, his pain, and the need to _destroy_ goes roaring to the forefront, only beaten by the need to _protect_. He takes another breath, sifting through the layers of scent until he finds the thread that’s Steve, then takes off down the hallway as quietly as he can run.

The house itself is quiet like everyone’s rushed outside to find the source of the power cut, and Bucky uses it to his advantage. He skirts quietly around the rooms that still have people in them, weaving through the house until he’s at the door to what must be the basement. It’s ajar, and Bucky carefully pries it open until he can get through, returning it to the same position once he’s on the other side.

Down the stairs, and he can hear voices. Men, taunting, laughing, joking. Bucky can’t help the way his lips curl back, disgust and anger warring in him until he hears a soft, “Bucky.”

Steve’s tied crudely to the wall, rope like nothing Bucky’s ever seen, and he’s at Steve’s side in a heartbeat, hands hovering over Steve’s shoulders, fighting his instinct to wait for Steve’s reaction. Steve sags into him, closing the distance between them, and Bucky catches him, holds him tight. Nose buried in Steve’s hair, he almost misses the soft, “I thought I was awake.” But he doesn’t, and the implication isn’t something Bucky wants to examine too closely just yet.

“Okay,” Bucky says quietly. “I’m getting you out.”

“There’s a key,” Steve says softly, burrowing deeper into his shoulder and Bucky’s wolf howls at the contact. “They keep it with them,” Steve’s saying, “They won’t give it up easily.”

Bucky can’t resist, presses his lips to the top of Steve’s head before cupping his cheeks. “I won’t hurt you,” he says softly. “Remember that, okay? I will never cause you harm.”

Steve looks at him oddly, but Bucky steps back. It’s harder than it should be to let Steve go, but he forces himself to, strips his pants off and lets the shift wash through him.

As soon as he’s on four legs he butts his head against Steve’s leg, gets a shaky smile in return before he goes on the hunt.

The group of men are clearly not expecting company. They’re drunk, rowdy, yelling at each other and placing bets, and they’re so loud that not one of them notices the wolf in their midst until it’s too late.

He’s efficient, as much as he wants to make them suffer, noses his way through the bodies until he finds what he’s looking for. It smells of Steve and _magic_ , a small engraved circle, and Bucky takes it back to Steve without poking around to look for more.

He shifts as he approaches, Steve’s wide eyes not leaving him the entire time, and when Bucky hits his knees in front of Steve, this time he’s covered in blood.

Steve’s breathing is rapid as Bucky searches the binds holding him to the wall, fingers seeking out the hole the key would fit into. “It’s,” Steve says, swallows. When he tries again, his voice isn’t shaking. “It’s near my hands.”

Bucky immediately reverses direction, touching Steve’s hand lightly to let him know where Bucky is before he picks up his search again.

Finding the hole, Bucky slides the key in, and the bindings melt away between one breath and the next. Steve’s rubbing at his wrists as Bucky shoves himself to his feet, gets his pants back on. When he looks up again Steve’s on his feet, shifting from side to side. His eyes are nailed to the blood on Bucky’s skin.

“Don’t ask,” Bucky says shortly. “And I won’t say anything. Are you ready to go?”

Steve nods and it’s sharp, a jerk and then nothing as Bucky grabs Steve’s wrist, leads him towards the staircase. “Upstairs, east side of the building,” Bucky says just before he goes through the door back into the house proper. “Unattended window. Head for the trees, I’ll find you. It’s dark enough that they probably won’t.”

Steve nods again, and with a deep breath, Bucky opens the door. There’s no one in the first room, the remains of a kitchen barely used, and Bucky leads the way through the house towards the stairs. It’s not as empty as it had been the first time, and Bucky lets his claws slide out. They’d have to go through him to touch Steve.

He’s light enough on his feet that they don’t notice the approaching wolf until Bucky’s almost on them, claws just out of range. The first blast of magic slides off his skin like water, as does the second, and Bucky’s through the first two guards like they’re nothing before any of the spells start to sink in.

He jerks, a pained hiss escaping through clenched teeth as heat flares up along his left side, concentrating around where the metal is fused to his shoulder. With every step closer to the final witch the pain grows, until he’s almost staggering forward, wolf driving him as the human side flinches away.

Then he hears Steve’s voice, unwavering. “Bucky, duck.”

He drops without a thought, letting his knees fold like they’d been threatening to. There’s a flare of energy from behind him, something going past his head and leaving only warmth behind. He grabs at his shoulder, claws bringing spots of blood to the surface, and just breathes.

His breathing stutters as the witch in front of him simply crumbles apart, skin turning grey as he flakes apart. Bucky glances back at Steve, swallows hard at what he sees.

“No one hurts you.” The voice is velvet covering steel, an unbreakable promise Steve speaks into existence. His eyes are glowing with power, blue sharp enough that it gives off its own light. It’s eerie, or it would be if Bucky’s mouth hadn’t gone dry, wolf howling for its _mate_ as Steve walks forward.

“Steve,” Bucky manages to get out, and Steve’s eyes flicker before the glow in them starts to fade. Steve grabs Bucky’s hand, pulls him up and to his feet before he’s _there_ , pressed up against his uninjured side while Bucky leans into him.

“Let’s go.” His voice leaves no room for argument, but Bucky argues anyway.

“I’ll be fine in a second,” he gets out as Steve hurries them through the house, following Bucky’s half-assed gestures whenever they came to a door or crossroad.

Up the stairs, and Bucky’s got his feet under him enough to stand on his own two feet again. His wolf cries out, mourns the loss of contact, but it’s going to have to deal with it. Bucky refuses to endanger Steve.

He gets his claws out again, bullies his way in front of Steve and leads the way through the second floor. They don’t encounter anyone, which is as concerning as it is relieving, but Bucky gets the window open again and gets Steve out, waiting for the sound of feet hitting the ground before following.

He nods towards the fence, goes to offer Steve a leg-up when Steve snaps the fence in half with a flick of his fingers. Bucky saves his gaping for later, quickly crosses, and Steve seals the hole back up before grabbing Bucky’s wrist.

Bucky twists his hand until he can get his fingers around Steve’s too, then heads for the trees surrounding the property.

As soon as they’re in the cover of the trees Bucky stops, dragging Steve to a halt by their joined hands. “What was that?” he asks, voice quiet but insistent. “You fucking… turned that guy into a dust bunny. What the _hell_?”

Steve’s eyes are wide, but Bucky can’t tell if it’s because of the vehemence, or the realisation of what he’d done. “He was hurting you,” Steve says after a silence that was just a little longer than it should have been. “I made him stop. I didn’t _do_ anything, I just… made him stop.”

Bucky frowns, then tugs Steve back into motion again. “We need to find the others. Then we should talk.”

Steve’s cheeks darken a little at the comment, but he just nods, follows behind Bucky. He weaves them through the trees, walking the long way around the property, staying slow and quiet despite the stillness of the grounds.

When Bucky sees the car he speeds up a little, keeping himself to human speeds so Steve can keep up. “Something’s not right,” he starts as soon as he’s level with the car boot, only to walk a few steps more and see Natasha cleaning blood off her nails. Sam looks mildly disgusted but at the situation more than at her, which was something. Usually, she’s said or done something to earn that look directly.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, actually looking concerned, but Bucky grinds to a halt, staring at her.

“Did you by chance have anything to do with the lack of guards in the house?” Bucky asks instead of what he had been about to say, and Nat just smiles at him.

“You had no problem then?” It’s the closest she’s going to give to an answer if Bucky knows anything about his friend, so he just nods. The grip on his wrist tightens and he glances back, smiling at Steve’s expression of surprise.

The smile falls away when Steve speaks, and the reason for his surprise isn’t what Bucky’s expecting.

“You all put yourselves on the line? For me?”

Bucky growls under his breath. “You’re pack, we look after our own,” he says before anyone else can speak. He crouches, grabs a handful of mushy snow, and uses it to wipe his face clean. “We need to go.”

Nat hops off the bonnet of the car with one final swipe of her tissue to a nail, then grabs the driver’s side door. Sam’s already heading for the front passenger. “You two in the back,” she says with a nod towards Bucky and Steve. “No funny business.”

Steve’s cheeks turn pink and Bucky’s not proud to say he can feel his face heating as well. But he’s not going to argue, dropping his chin and opening the back door for Steve.

It takes him a moment but Steve finally gets in, and Bucky slides in after. He’s reaching for the bag under the driver’s seat when Steve’s hand on his arm stops him, and Steve’s quiet, “Can I look at your arm?” has him frowning. He holds up his right one, but when Steve shakes his head, tentatively lifts the metal one and holds his hand out to Steve.

The hand on his wrist is gentle as Steve takes in the metal, moving the arm smoothly up and over his shoulder. Bucky can feel the warmth of Steve’s skin through his shirt, frowns, but Steve’s pressing warm fingers to the skin of his side, and he hisses at the sting of it. He flinches back but Steve follows, a flick of his fingers summoning a small light as he looks over Bucky’s skin. He gentles his touch though, which Bucky is thankful for.

When he looks down himself the skin is raw and pink, but not nearly as bad as he thought it’d be given what had happened. “It’s fine,” he says, twitching again as Steve’s fingers get closer to the seam of metal, where it had hurt the most. “It’ll be gone by tomorrow.”

“What happened?” Sam’s voice is sharp from the front seat. Bucky glances up to see the man twisting to look at them with mild concern.

“Nothing,” Bucky says, but Steve speaks over him loudly.

“He got hit, a witch was doing something to his arm and now his skin looks like it’s burned.”

Sam’s scowling and Bucky scowls right back. “It’s. Fine.” He growls the words under his breath but doesn’t remove his hand from Steve’s shoulder. Steve doesn’t stop what he’s doing, carefully feeling along the edges of the burn, probably to check how big it is. “He hit me with a magic bolt to the arm, the metal didn’t react well and I’m now delightfully pan-seared around the socket. I’ve had worse – I’ve had people do this exact thing and the result be worse before.” He directs his scowl towards Steve who seems to be ignoring him. “It’ll be gone by morning.”

Steve finally looks like he’s satisfied, dragging his fingers down the skin surrounding the burn before dropping his hands to his lap.

Bucky reluctantly withdraws his arm and pulls his bag out from under the seat in front, pulling his shirt out and dragging it over his head. He’s glad he went light, the thin cotton not irritating the tender skin. As soon as it’s on he’s leaning back against his door, looking at Steve.

He opens his mouth but Steve speaks first, with a quiet, “How did you even find me?”

Nat answers, at least in part. “I found three properties owned by the mayor. He’d only declared two of them when he took office. This was the third. Then Wolfie-” Bucky scowls at the nickname, “-confirmed it for us when we arrived to snoop.”

“He wasn’t very keen on leaving you behind, so I had to knock him out,” Sam picks up, and Bucky slides down a little in his seat, hoping that Steve won’t ask too many questions.

The fates aren’t on his side. In fact, he’s pretty sure they’re laughing at him.

“Why’d he do that? I doubt you would have left without a decent reason.”

“His wolf,” Natasha says, and there’s a laugh in her voice. “Was the one running the show. Logic didn’t apply in that situation.”

“Why?” Steve prods, and Bucky wishes he could just melt through the bottom of the car and be left behind on the road.

“You’ll have to ask him,” is the cryptic response from the driver’s seat.

Steve’s eyes turn to him, but Bucky shakes his head. “Later,” he promises. “I’ll explain it all once we’re safe.”

There’s a snort from Sam, and yeah, okay, he kind of deserved that. They wouldn’t be safe until the mayor was dead and his lackeys wiped out. “Soon,” he tags on the end, and Steve nods before Sam can call him out again, much to Bucky’s relief.

“What you told us helped,” Bucky says instead, and Steve startles, looks at him in surprise.

“You were- That _was_ you?”

Bucky nods. “You called me to you and I came. I didn’t realise what was happening at first, but it was like I was in your head.”

Steve’s quiet for a heartbeat, then he says, “I tried reaching out. I didn’t think it had worked. Too much resistance, like something was pushing me back.”

“Shapeshifters have a natural block against magic,” Bucky says. “It was probably that. It definitely worked though, I heard you clear as anything.”

Steve bites his lip, nods, and goes quiet, so Bucky just gives him a little smile, kicks a knee up onto the seat to wedge it between them, initiate contact with Steve again.

The car is quiet for the rest of the trip, and Steve seems surprised when they pull up in the carpark behind Bucky’s building. “Is it really the best place to stay?” Steve asks, and Nat looks at him.

“Of course it is, it’s the last place they’d expect us to go.”

She has a point, really. “Plus we moved the furniture around so the Voyager can’t lock onto it through their memory,” Sam adds.

Bucky doesn’t bother arguing, just shuts his mouth and leads the way into the building because as much as he wants to drag his heels, he’s the one with the keys and something viciously protective in him refuses to leave Steve outside any longer than he has to.

So he lets them all in, catching Winter’s collar with his fingers before the dog can jump all over the other three. He locks up once they’re in, hesitating at the door for a second as he considers the situation he’s found himself in. Winter is already at Steve’s feet, head in his lap, and there’s a flicker of jealousy that runs though Bucky before he shoves it back. He avoids the living area, grabbing the burn cream out of the first aid kit and pulling his shirt off to smooth it over the burn without anyone to witness.

He doesn’t escape them long, a tap on the ajar bathroom door his only warning before Steve sticks his head in, goes pink. “I thought you said it was nothing,” Steve says instead of whatever is on his mind.

Bucky scowls a little, getting more cream on his finger and rubbing it into the patch on his ribs. “It is nothing. It’ll be even less than nothing with the cream on it.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Steve says helpfully. But he takes a step closer, reaches for the tube. “Here, let me, I can actually see what I’m doing.”

Bucky gives a token protest but lets the tube slide out of his grip.

Steve’s methodical, not lingering, but his touch is gentle and he’s warm, so warm standing this close to Bucky. And yet – he’d been the one kidnapped and held hostage for days.

As soon as Steve puts the cap back on the tube Bucky’s turning, staying close and indulging his wolf, and himself if he’s honest. “You should be… resting,” he says eventually when Steve doesn’t move back. “Not doctoring me.”

“You ran off pretty quick,” Steve says by way of explanation. He still doesn’t step back and instead brushes his fingers over the metal of Bucky’s shoulder. “Had to make sure you weren’t collapsed in the bathroom or something.”

“I’m a wolf.” And a coward, he thinks as he takes the tube of cream from Steve, steps back to put it away. “I prefer to lick my wounds in private.” When he turns Steve’s in his face again, all but cornering him against the vanity. His wolf just luxuriates in Steve’s closeness, doesn’t even bat an eye at the dominance in the gesture.

Bucky lifts his chin, challenging, and stares Steve in the eye, but Steve’s just putting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. They’re warm enough that Bucky leans into the touch, into Steve, more than he should.

“Thank you,” Steve says quietly. “You saved my life, put your own at risk. _Thank you_.”

Bucky gives a small shrug, not enough to displace Steve’s hands, and Steve seems to notice the care, smiling a little. “I wasn’t going to leave you behind,” Bucky says, voice soft.

Steve shrugs, but his cheeks are turning pink, and he drops his chin to look at the floor between them. “I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he says, and everything in Bucky stands up and yells at that. “Not considering how we met.”

Bucky snorts, hope that conveys the _you’re_ _an idiot_ he wants it to. “You’ve more than proved you’re willing to learn, willing to make an effort and change what you think. Why would I hold anything before that against you?”

“But-” Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off with a jerk of his hand between them, like zipping a zipper.

“No. I’m holding what you did against the ones who made you do it, not you. You didn’t know any better.”

Steve’s quiet for almost a minute, but Bucky lets him mull it over, waits patiently as the silence grows. “Sorry,” Steve finally speaks. “I’m not used to people being so-”

“Decent?”

He snorts. “Yeah, that.”

Bucky purses his lips, has to hold back a smile as Steve’s eyes drop to follow the motion. He fights the urge of his wolf for a second, then gives in to an extent, compromising with himself. “Can I hug you?”

Steve looks surprised, _sounds_ surprised as he stutters over the same syllable for a few seconds. Then he stops, takes a breath, and nods.

Bucky moves slowly, not wanting to spook the man despite his agreement, and wraps his arms around Steve’s waist. He closes the distance as he tightens his arms, and Steve stays rigid in his hold for a breath before sagging into him. Steve’s taller, but somehow he makes himself small as he drops his face to Bucky’s shoulder, tucks it in against Bucky’s neck. It makes Bucky’s chest ache for him, and he tightens his grip further and presses his cheek to the top of Steve’s head.

His hair is soft against Bucky’s skin, and if he was a cat he’d be purring at the contact, at the way Steve seems to curl into him, deeper into Bucky’s hold. He slides a hand up Steve’s back and rubs gently as Steve starts to shake, fine tremors running through him.

“You’re okay,” Bucky says, whispers into his hair. “You’re safe, I won’t let them hurt you.”

Steve’s next breath is ragged, fingers curling against Bucky’s chest like he’s looking for something to hold onto, finds only skin and hair and warmth.

Keeping his voice low, Bucky repeats, “You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re _home_ ,” until Steve’s shaking starts to slow down, sharp little shivers jarring them both until he’s breathing slow and even again.

Bucky shifts on his feet, rocking them back and forward slowly, and Steve eventually says, “ _God_ ,” and Bucky grins.

“Nope, just me. Sorry,” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood, and Steve laughs even if it’s a little broken up, so he counts it as a win. “You want to head back out to the others?” he asks next, gives Steve the option of staying in their own little pocket of his apartment – even if it’s just the bathroom.

Steve takes a deep breath then nods slowly. “Yeah, I think,” he swallows, “I think I’m okay. Sorry.”

One eyebrow immediately goes up and Bucky scowls. “Don’t be sorry for reacting to what you just went through.” He skims his hands down Steve’s sides, lingers at his hips until Steve drops his hands. When Steve steps back Bucky lets him, finally letting go. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Steve shakes his head then lifts a hand, pressing it to the spot between Bucky’s eyes. He rubs, soft, and Bucky relaxes a little, feels his face smooth out under the pressure. He sighs, and Steve frowns, just the smallest downward quirk of his lips.

“Wolves are tactile, right? By nature?” he asks, and Bucky nods warily. Steve hums but doesn’t say anything more, so Bucky lets it slide. Then Steve’s hand is curling around Bucky’s wrist, fingers loose like he’s ready for Bucky to pull back.

Bucky’s eyes widen and he looks at Steve, who gives him a shrug. “You don’t seem like you go out much, and I’m your friend, so.” He shrugs again, and Bucky flexes his jaw, biting back on the urge to tell Steve exactly what he thinks of him.

But Steve’s not ready to hear that, and Bucky’s not ready to say it, so he keeps it on lockdown, just twists his hand until he’s got his thumb on the beat of Steve’s pulse, fingers gently wrapped around his wrist. Steve opens the bathroom door again, then hesitates, says, “Did you want to grab a shirt?”

His ears are pink, and Bucky can see the blush over the back of his neck. Bucky really wants to put his mouth there, taste Steve’s skin, find out what that blush feels like on his tongue. He shakes his head, realises Steve’s still not looking, and says, “No, it’s warm enough up here.”

The pink of Steve’s skin gets darker, and Bucky files that away for later.

When they make it out to the living room, Sam’s eyes immediately go to their hands, but Bucky just shrugs a little at him and leads the way to the bigger couch. He sits, waits for Steve to join him, then shifts to stick his feet under Steve’s thighs. Steve turns to give him a look, and he just wiggles his toes, resting his chin on his drawn-up knees.

“Okay,” Sam says like he needs to break them up. “Steve, you doing alright?”

Steve gives him a smile, and Bucky rubs his thumb over Steve’s pulse, unable to resist. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, and Bucky can feel the truth in it. “They didn’t hurt me much.”

“Unfortunately,” Nat pipes up. “I’m going to have to.”

Bucky can’t help the growl that rips out of him, low and menacing. Nat looks at him in surprise, Sam looks smug, and Steve’s face is carefully blank.

Then Steve’s reaching out and putting his free hand on Bucky’s face, nearly falling over on the couch to do so, and the growl stops, cut short. Steve’s face is still unreadable, and Bucky doesn’t bother looking at anyone else, just holds Steve’s gaze and waits for the reprimand.

It doesn’t come. Steve’s hand stays on his cheek as he says, “Let her talk,” and Bucky’s helpless to do anything but obey.

Steve nods, doesn’t take his gaze off Bucky’s, and Steve’s breath hitches a little as he presses a thumb to just below Bucky’s eye. “Your eyes,” he says quietly, and Bucky’s attention barely wavers as Nat speaks from the dining table.

“His wolf is very close right now.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Steve asks without breaking eye contact.

“No,” Bucky says and his voice is lower than usual, thick with the roughness of his other side. “Not yet it’s not.”

“What were you going to say?” Steve prompts Nat, and Bucky almost growls again except Steve wants to hear, and he’s not about to prevent that.

Nat clears her throat. “They have a voyager, and they had you for long enough to take a recent photo of you. We need to make sure that photo doesn’t match anymore.

Steve’s thumb drags over the healing wound on Bucky’s cheek. “Is that what this is?” Bucky nods with a short jerk of his chin. “And it’ll protect me from the Voyager finding me?”

“Yes,” Natasha says, “This way at least. What’s your healing rate?”

“Faster than a normal human, slower than a wolf,” Bucky says automatically. “It should last a few weeks.”

Long enough for this to hopefully all be behind them.

“Do it,” Steve says, lifting his chin, eyes still on Bucky’s.

“Bucky, are you going to let me do this?” Nat’s voice is patient, careful like she’s honestly asking. She knows how much damage he can do when he’s not in control, better than anyone.

“I,” Bucky says, stops. “Yes.” It’s going to happen regardless of what he says, the only real question is whether Bucky has to leave the room for her to do it.

Steve breaks eye contact then, watching Natasha as she crosses the room. “I’ll make it quick,” she says, apologetic note in her voice. “Hold still.”

She takes a grip on Steve’s chin, and Bucky shoves the wolf back down as it tries to protest. A flash of claw, and Steve’s hand on Bucky’s wrist gets tighter even as the one on his face stays relaxed. His breath hitches and Bucky can’t stop the growl escaping him as he gets the scent of Steve’s blood. Nat hands Steve a wad of gauze that Bucky hadn’t noticed before, and Bucky’s eyes follow Steve’s hand when it leaves Bucky’s cheek to press onto his own.

He takes a breath, lets it out slow. Then another, feeling the wolf settle again, focusing on the touch of Steve’s fingers, the weight of Steve’s thigh on his feet.

“Don’t worry,” Nat says with a sneaky little smile. “You’re still plenty pretty, just ask-” she glances at Bucky pointedly, “-anyone.”

The wolf abandons him to his embarrassment and Bucky can feel his cheeks heat.

Steve squeezes his wrist though, and Bucky gives him a little smile, says, “The prettiest,” in an attempt at a tease. It doesn’t work all too well, voice a little too soft, but Steve smiles back at him so he puts that one in the win column.

Steve goes to lift the gauze and Bucky growls, scooting his butt closer until he can press it firmly to Steve’s cheek. “She’s got wicked claws,” he says when Steve raises an eyebrow. “You’ll bleed more than you expect to.”

Steve’s eyebrow stays up but he doesn’t protest, instead glancing up at Nat without moving his head. “Thanks,” he says, ever polite even after he’s just been cut. She nods and returns to the table, fingers tapping away at her phone screen.

Silence hangs between them, then Winter barks from the kitchen, and Bucky drops his head to his knees. “Winter,” he groans in annoyance, reluctantly dropping his feet to the ground. Winter barks again, so Bucky lifts the hand that’s joined with Steve’s. A quick twist of his wrist and he’s got Steve’s hand in his, and he uses that to press against the gauze. “Hold it ‘til I get back,” he says, ignoring the urge to kiss Steve’s forehead. Steve stares up at him then nods slowly.

Bucky reluctantly pulls away, gets to his feet and follows the sound of his dog, only to burst out laughing when he sees the toy in Winter’s water bowl, the clear plastic upside down and trapping the ball.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've put a tentative chapter count, based on the fact that my chapters are ballparking at 5k each. this is by no means a definite chapter count though!
> 
> a little domestic break for the boys as steve tries to find his footing, and bucky's wolf keeps wanting to win him over
> 
> a quick warning for those that need it - dreamsex happens again, and they still don't talk about it, but they're both starting to realise that it's probably not just a dream.

Once the others have left, Bucky lasts only a few minutes before he starts to pace, Steve watching him from the couch.

With his third trip around the living space, Steve says, “You alright?” Bucky stops in his tracks, staring at the ground in front of him. He tugs at the waistband of his trackpants when the fabric starts to itch, carefully catalogues the way Steve’s breath hitches behind him.

“I need to shift,” Bucky says, voice grating a little in his throat. He hears Steve’s indrawn breath, cuts him off before he can speak. “But if I shift here, I’m going to be up in your face. I can’t go, because I can’t leave you alone.”

Steve’s going to protest, Bucky can feel it. “Not that I don’t trust you,” Bucky tags on. “But I _can’t_. My wolf won’t let me.”

He stays still as the couch creaks, as footsteps approach him slowly like Steve’s still trying to work out what he wants to say. “Hey,” he starts, quiet. “Look at me?”

Bucky turns immediately, eyes on Steve’s face. Steve’s close, just gets closer once Bucky’s obeyed, then his big hands are on Bucky’s arms, gently rubbing up and down over his skin. Bucky can’t help himself, leaning into Steve a little and making the other man smile indulgently.

“Why do you talk about yourself like you’re two different entities? Bucky, and the wolf?”

It’s not nearly what Bucky had been expecting, and he’s so caught off guard that he blurts out, “Three.” Steve’s face twists in confusion, so Bucky sighs. “Three parts. Me, the wolf, and the beast in the middle.”

Steve frowns. “Why?”

A breath drawn in, then Bucky lets it out slowly. “I’ve done a lot of things in my life,” he says softly. “A lot of things I’m not proud of. I spent a lot of time in those forms, did a lot of bad things in them.”

“It’s easier to distance yourself,” Steve says quietly, understanding dawning on his face. “If they’re not _you_ -”

“-Then maybe I’m deserving of something good.” He lifts his chin, looks over Steve’s head. All the better to avoid his pity. Steve draws in a breath like he wants to say something about that, so Bucky keeps talking, doesn’t give him the space to speak. “I’m old, older than I look. I’ve lived long enough that the parts of me have begun to take their own shape, to the point where I can tell who a feeling is coming from. Whether it’s _me_ , or one of _them_.” He takes a shaky breath. “If I shift,” he starts, “then the wolf gets control, and it’s hard for me to win out on some things.”

“Like?” Steve prompts.

“You.” The answer is easy, even if admitting it isn’t. “The wolf wants to protect you, to keep you close and safe. I do too, but it’s more… pushy about it.”

Steve snorts. “The growling,” he says, and Bucky nods. Steve takes a deep breath, and Bucky’s eyes drop to his chest, watching it expand. “I think,” Steve says, stops. “You should shift.”

Bucky’s eyes drop back to Steve’s and he stares, unblinking. “Steve,” he says, fizzles out after Steve’s name.

“It’s your home,” Steve says, grip tightening a little on Bucky’s arms before his hands resume their steady glide, up and down. “And I want.” He pauses, jaw working like he’s making sure the words are right before they escape his mouth. “I want to see you as a wolf, like this. No threat, no need for it, just like this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath, hands tightening in the waistband of his sweats. “There’s no going back if I do,” he warns, just to make sure Steve knows what he’s getting into. “The wolf, it – _he_ wants to protect you.” It’s not the only thing the wolf wants, but it’s the most present, the one thing his other side is focusing on more than anything else.

“It’s okay,” Steve says. “I can handle it.”

Bucky wants to believe him.

Bucky takes a breath and lets himself believe.

“Sit on the couch,” he says. “That way I won’t knock you over.” Steve gives him an odd look but slowly steps back, walking backwards like he things Bucky will change his mind if he looks away.

Bucky skims his pants down his legs, feeling almost awkward about his nudity for the first time in… a long time. He can’t even remember the last time. Steve’s eyes stay on him, flicking down then up like he can’t help himself, and Bucky takes a deep breath, invites his wolf to the forefront as he tips forward.

A burst of pain, sharp and bittersweet. It radiates out, hitting a new part of him just as it fades out of the previous. He focuses on the pain, lets it shape him inside and out.

He lands on paws instead of hands, shakes himself out as the last parts of him shift and resettle again. There’s a soft gasp, and Bucky can feel the surprise in the room like Steve hadn’t been sure he was actually going to follow through. He stands up straight, shakes himself again, and with a few quick steps he finds himself at the edge of the couch.

With great difficulty, he reels himself in, holds still at the edge. Waits.

Steve holds out a hand, and Bucky sniffs it carefully before licking a stripe up the middle of Steve’s palm. Steve laughs, so Bucky takes that as the invitation he’s waiting for and hops up onto the couch.

“Jeez,” Steve says as he leans back, and Bucky drops to sit beside him before crawling his front paws forward. “You’re bigger than Winter.”

The dog barks once from his bed by the other couch, knowing better than to approach with Bucky in this form, not without Bucky inviting him. Bucky huffs, nudges Steve’s hand out of the way, then sprawls himself in Steve’s lap, pinning him to the couch.

“You’re _heavy_ ,” Steve says, shifting one leg a little, but Bucky refuses to move, shoves his nose against the edge of Steve’s shirt instead. Steve yelps and Bucky nudges again, harder until Steve puts a hand over Bucky’s muzzle and pushes back.

That delights the wolf, amuses the man, and Bucky pushes up against Steve’s hand before licking his wrist. “Buck!” Steve yelps, and Bucky yips back at him before tucking his head against Steve’s hip, resting his chin on the couch.

Steve holds still for a second, then carefully places his hands on Bucky’s body, so gentle as he touches his fur. He pets and Bucky lets out a soft breath, stretching his back legs out behind him.

Feel good?” Steve asks, and Bucky nudges his hip with his nose. Steve grabs a handful of fur lightly in retaliation, tugs just a little, and it sends sparks of pleasure running through Bucky, making him want to stretch out and beg for more, luxuriate in it until he falls asleep. It’s been so long since he’s been properly _petted_ in this form, and Steve feels like he’s ready to do it properly, fingers digging in through the thick pelt to lightly scratch at the skin underneath.

“You’re so warm,” Steve says, but it’s distant like he’s talking to himself. “How do you handle summer, huh?” Bucky snorts and shakes his head a little, which earns him a scratch behind the ears.

Eventually, Steve relaxes, hands settling into a gentle rhythm of strokes over Bucky’s fur. Bucky knows he’s going to fall asleep there, in that moment. He knows, and he does absolutely nothing to fight it as the exhaustion of the day catches up to him, as the toll of his healing drags him closer to sleep.

He nudges his nose against Steve’s hand, thumps his tail a few times against the couch, and closes his eyes, letting Steve’s petting lull him into sleep.

He wakes up human.

The first thing he notices is that he’s still curled up, draped over something warm, nose pressed against something that reflects his breath back onto him. He tilts his head, opens his eyes, and nearly shoves himself off the couch when he realises where he is.

He’s still in Steve’s lap. Human.

Steve’s out like a light, head tipped back against the couch back and breathing deep and even. Bucky’s face is pressed against Steve’s hip, against sleep-warm skin where Steve’s shirt has ridden up, and Bucky wants to push himself back into that spot, luxuriate in the skin to skin contact.

Steve’s hand is on his ribs, just under the healing burn, and Bucky doesn’t _want_ to move but knows he has to.

There’s a soft whine, and it drags his attention away, landing on the dog standing by the front door. That’s probably what woke him in the first place. Winter realises he’s awake and comes trotting over, pressing his nose against the small of Bucky’s back and almost making him jump. He manages to contain the reaction, if only to keep Steve sleeping, and carefully levers himself up onto all-fours before sitting back on his haunches. Carefully he gets to his feet, and Steve sleeps on, snuffling a little with every third or fourth breath he takes.

It’s cute. Cute enough that Bucky can’t help himself, leaning forward to brush his lips over Steve’s forehead. Steve snuffles again but sleeps on.

It only takes Bucky a minute to grab his sweatpants off the floor, tugging them on before grabbing Winter’s lead. He takes the dog out into the cool night, shivering just a little when a gust of wind hit him the wrong way, and as soon as Winter’s done his business Bucky’s almost running back into the building to warm his toes back up.

By the time he lets them back in, Steve’s sitting more upright again, blinking slowly as he looks around. His face lights up when he sees Bucky, and when he holds out his hands, Winter goes running for him, slathering his face in kisses.

Bucky’s not sure what to say, can see that Steve isn’t either in the way he keeps glancing up, eyes skittering away every time Bucky makes eye contact. So, Bucky avoids the conversation, rubs a hand over the back of his head only to find his hair sticking up at odd angles.

“You should probably move to a bed,” he says instead of asking to curl back up where he’d been. “Better for your neck if you do.”

Steve winces as he rocks his head from side to side, stretching the muscle. “Yeah, I should.” He doesn’t move though, just keeps petting Winter.

Bucky crosses the room, holds his hands out to Steve. “C’mon, up,” he says, and Steve hesitates for a second before letting the dog go and taking Bucky’s hands. He pulls Steve to his feet with a step back, squeezes his hands lightly before reluctantly dropping them. “If you want, Winter can sleep with you tonight,” Bucky says instead of offering himself like he wants to. “So you’re not alone.”

Steve stares at him for a second then smiles, sleep-rumpled and sweet. “Yeah, okay. I’ll take you up on that.”

Bucky watches Steve for a second before realising he’s blocking the way. He takes a couple of steps back, but Steve closes the distance again, looking down at his feet.

“Can I…” Steve starts, and Bucky goes still, ready to give Steve anything he wants. “Hug you?” Steve finishes, and Bucky’s closing the distance before the final sound is out of his mouth.

He hugs Steve tight, and Steve’s arms around him are somehow tighter. Bucky can’t help it, tucks his nose against Steve’s hair and just breathes in his scent, as close to a kiss as he’s willing to risk.

Steve’s quiet, so Bucky doesn’t bother speaking, just holds Steve for as long as he needs.

It’s only a couple of minutes until Steve’s pulling back slowly, so Bucky let him go, pasting a smile on his face that almost feels real. Is real, apart from the fact that he has to let Steve go. “Okay?” he asks, and Steve nods, still looking down. “Okay,” Bucky says, “let’s get to bed.”

He herds Steve up the hall, hesitates in the doorway of Steve’s room to make sure he’s settled, then hesitates a second longer to wonder when it became _Steve’s room_ instead of just the spare room. Winter pushes past him, jumping up and settling on the side Steve doesn’t usually sleep on, and Bucky forces himself to step back as Steve smiles over at him.

“Night,” Steve says before his eyes move, and he winces. “Morning,” he corrects, and Bucky follows his gaze to the clock, showing 0217 in bold red numbers.

“Night,” Bucky replies, uncaring. “Sleep well.”

He pushes himself upright off the doorjamb, takes the few steps down the hall to his own room. He hesitates again in the doorway, then shakes his head, nudging the door closed behind him. It doesn’t quite get there, open just enough for a dog muzzle to get through and open it the rest of the way.

He strips out of his sweats, dumping them in his hamper before crawling into bed.

He’s asleep almost as soon as his head hits the pillow.

Bucky’s eyes open, and Steve’s there, smiling indulgently. He doesn’t recognise where they are, but they’re alone, and it takes him far to long to realise it’s another dream.

“Hi,” Steve says, voice warm. “You’re back.”

“Did I go somewhere?” Bucky asks, and Steve flounders like he hadn’t expected a response.

“In your own head, maybe,” Steve says, but it sounds odd to his ears like it’s not what Steve had meant to say.

Bucky shrugs, and takes a chance, loops his arms around Steve’s shoulders. There are arms around his waist almost immediately after, so he rises up on his toes and brushes his lips over Steve’s. “Do you wanna give your _hello_ a second try?” he whispers, and Steve grins, pulls him in tight.

The kiss is warm, familiar, and Bucky sighs into it, into _Steve_. It’s nice, but Bucky’d had enough of _nice_ , had thought Steve might try something more, and he’s about to pull back when Steve tips his head and deepens the kiss.

Suddenly, it’s _heat_ , sizzling down Bucky’s spine and curling in his gut, tugging as Steve’s tongue strokes along his. He gasps into Steve’s mouth and Steve hums in response but doesn’t let up.

Bucky gets his hand in Steve’s hair, grips tight, and Steve slides his hands down from Bucky’s waist in retaliation, squeezing his ass firmly. Bucky’s not about to let Steve have the upper hand so he braces his free hand on Steve’s shoulder and _jumps_.

Steve catches him with the hands on his ass and Bucky wraps his legs around Steve’s waist, pulling himself in tight and kissing Steve a little hotter, a little wetter.

There’s a moan, and Bucky’s not sure if it’s his or Steve’s, but Bucky goes chasing the sound, pulling Steve in and in and in until Steve’s moving, walking them a few steps to press Bucky against the closest wall.

“There a bed in this place?” Bucky asks, breathless, when Steve lets up on the kiss for more than a second, and Steve grins, squeezes Bucky’s ass. That’s all the warning Bucky gets before Steve’s straightening up, carrying Bucky down a hallway he doesn’t recognise and into a bedroom that’s definitely not his.

He expects Steve to drop him on the bed, is surprised when Steve knee-walks onto the mattress by himself, lowers Bucky down gently and immediately settles his weight over him.

Bucky arches into it, rolling his body in tight against Steve’s as their clothes melt away. He moans softly, and Steve echoes it before shoving their mouths together again.

Hands glide down his sides, reverent. They grip his hips in sharp little points of pressure and Bucky clamps his knees in tight, holding Steve’s body close. He digs his heel into Steve’s ass, bites Steve’s lip as Steve breaks away to breathe, and then Steve’s mouth is on his again, barely a breath taken.

It slides off quickly and Steve sets his teeth against his jaw, a sharp little nip before he begins to work his way down Bucky’s throat. He bites down over Bucky’s pulse, just hard enough to feel, and Bucky’s wolf _howls_ with it, demanding more instead of kicking up a fuss.

Bucky slides his hands up Steve’s back and Steve hums, the noise tickling Bucky’s skin. “Bucky,” Steve says, _purrs_ , and Bucky can’t help the hitching little whine that escapes him. “What do you want?”

Bucky thinks about Steve’s mouth, about the warmth on his skin, and says, “Suck me off, then I’m open to suggestion.”

Steve goes still for just long enough that Bucky starts to panic, wondering if he’d managed to put his foot in his mouth and screw over his chances with the Steve that _he’d literally dreamed up_.

Then Steve laughs, and it’s not a mean laugh. It’s low, rich with promise, and when Steve murmurs, “I can do that,” it’s full of heat.

Bucky arches his back and Steve puts his mouth back to work.

Despite the agreement Steve takes his time, meandering his way past Bucky’s collarbones, licking at the raised scars on Bucky’s shoulder. When he kisses the spot Bucky can’t help the soft gasp that escapes him, the touch feathering across his skin. Steve keeps moving, finding the sensitive patches amongst the dead nerves, and Bucky’s almost writhing before long, held in place only by Steve’s weight.

Eventually, Bucky gasps out, “Please,” and Steve lets up if only to keep making his way down. He presses a kiss right over Bucky’s heart, which is pounding wildly, then tips his head to flick his tongue out over Bucky’s nipple.

It sends a bolt of _something_ right through him and he gasps again, higher in pitch, head kicking back into the pillow as he claws at Steve’s shoulders. The tug of nails become the prick of claws, and Bucky immediately lets go, fisting the bedsheets instead.

Steve, for what it’s worth, doesn’t seem flustered by it, just seals his lips over Bucky’s nipple and gives it a sharp suck before licking at it again. He meanders his way across to give the other side the same treatment, and Bucky lets his eyes slide shut

Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s exposed throat and the surprise of it makes him jerk, but then his mouth is gone again, teeth scraping over the edge of ribs on his way down. Bucky’s pretty sure that whatever part of him that had conjured up this Steve was the same part that constantly wondered how Steve’s mouth would taste, how it would feel on his skin. How his cock would feel pillowed on those lips. Wonders why he gets this even in his dreams, what he’s done to earn any part of Steve.

It’s just as that thought passes through his mind that teeth sink into the skin at his hip, and he jerks out of his thoughts and looks down to see Steve’s sharp gaze on him. “Where’d you go?” Steve asks against his hip, and Bucky shifts under him, trying to work out how to answer without letting too much slip out.

“Thinking about your mouth. How much I’ve wanted it on me.” He hesitates, but Steve waits him out, and he admits, “How much I don’t deserve it.”

Because it’s true. He’s lower than low for thinking about Steve in this way, for dreaming him up to have his wicked way with him. He didn’t deserve him even before that, not with the weight on his shoulders, the blood on his hands.

A sharp flicker of pain in his side, and he blinks to see Steve biting him again, jerking him out of his thoughts.

“You want this,” Steve says, and there’s something else in his voice. It’s not pity, but _pain_ , like Steve’s feeling every negative thought Bucky has. Which, to be fair, he probably is considering he’s a figment of Bucky’s imagination, as close to Steve as he can get but still _Bucky_.

“And I _really_ want this,” Steve’s saying. “I want to taste every part of you. Can I?”

Bucky hesitates, takes a deep breath. Steve’s still there when he lets it out, thumbs brushing back and forth over the jut of Bucky’s hips, one just grazing the bite mark Steve’s left behind.

He nods.

Steve pounces like he’s worried Bucky will change his mind, mouth burning a trail down until he’s got his cheek against the flagging weight of Bucky’s cock.

Steve noses at the weight of it, even just that pressure making Bucky gasp. Bucky’s hand drops to the back of Steve’s head before he can think and he only just manages to stop himself from grabbing on, cradles Steve’s head instead and takes a ragged breath.

Steve hums and scrapes his cheek up the side of Bucky’s cock, licks at the head with a delicate little flick of his tongue, and Bucky’s cock jerks. Steve gives a delighted little laugh, does it again, curls his tongue against the edge of foreskin before wrapping his lips around the head and sucking.

That rips a groan out of Bucky, hips twitching before he gets control of them again. Steve moves with him, waits until he’s back against the mattress before sinking lower, and _oh_.

Bucky’s found heaven in Steve’s mouth, he knows in that moment. It’s overwhelming, tight heat, suction as Steve pulls up before dropping down further. One of Steve’s hands moves from Bucky’s hip to wrap around the base of Bucky’s cock, squeezing tight as Steve’s mouth gets lower and lower.

Steve’s hand slides free, slides down to rub against the spot just behind Bucky’s balls, and rubs.

Bucky’s breath hitches, his head rocks back.

And he wakes up.

The change is jarring, almost as much as the shrill beeping of his bedside alarm clock. Bucky’s hips flex up, instinctively looking for the mouth that had been _right there_ and finding only sheets. Even just that pressure pulls a throaty moan out of Bucky, even though he bites down on it quickly.

Flailing a hand, he manages to shut his alarm up as he shoves his other hand under the covers, curls fingers around his desperate cock. It feels wrong, somehow worse than just _dreaming_ about Steve, but Bucky can’t help but remember the feel of Steve’s mouth in his dream, the look in Steve’s eye.

He doesn’t last long with that in the front of his mind, hips jerking up once, twice into the heat of his hand as tension coils in the base of his spine, pulls at his gut and at everything in him until it snaps.

He has to bite his lip to stop the noises from spilling out as he gets his other hand around the base of his cock, drags his nail over the leaking slit, and he curls in on himself, breath punching out as he comes

The shame doesn’t creep in until a few minutes later, aftershocks still rattling through him with almost every breath he takes.

**

Steve’s awake not long after and Bucky can’t face him, so once he’s cleaned himself up he’s throwing on his running gear, heading for the door. When he gets back he heads straight for the shower, has just locked the door behind him when there’s a light tap against it.

“Bucky,” Steve says quietly, and Bucky steels himself, swallows hard, and opens the door again.

Steve’s still sleep-rumpled and soft looking, but the smile he gives Bucky is warm. “Hey, sorry,” he says, voice a little breather than usual. Bucky just puts it down to the fact that he just woke up. “Do you mind If I use your laptop this morning?” Bucky’s stuck just staring at him for a moment, drinking him in, and Steve’s smile fades a little in the face of Bucky’s silence. He can’t help it though, eyes roving Steve’s face, committing him to memory in case he never gets another chance to see this Steve again.

Bucky takes a breath, nods, goes to tell Steve where to find it, then freezes as he realises where it is. He’s not letting Steve in his room just yet – even with just a human sense of smell, there’s no way it doesn’t smell like what he’d done earlier. “I’ll uh. Grab it for you,” he says quickly, brushing past Steve when the other man doesn’t move.

He grabs the device off his desk, checks it has full power, and returns to Steve, holding it out. He’s not going to ask why Steve needs it, he tells his wolf firmly as curiosity gets the better of his other self. When Steve takes it, his smile is thoughtful, eyes considering as he looks at Bucky.

“Thanks,” he says, “I’ll leave you to get cleaned up.”

Then he’s gone, wandering back up the hall to the living area, and Bucky can’t help but watch him go.

If he takes longer in the shower than usual, that’s his own business.

He comes out feeling a little more relaxed, if not any less dirty-feeling. Steve’s on the couch with his feet tucked up under him, and Bucky’s heart beats double-time at the sight of him. “Hey,” Steve says without looking up, and Bucky freezes in the hall. “Can I ask you a couple’a questions?”

Bucky nods, but Steve’s still looking at the screen, so he clears his throat, finds his way to the armchair opposite Steve. “Sure,” he says and it almost sounds normal. “What’s up?”

Steve stretches his neck, head rocking from side to side slowly, and he finally looks up from the screen to catch Bucky’s gaze. “I’m just curious,” Steve starts, and Bucky bites his lip, looks down at the floor before meeting Steve’s eyes again. “So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Now you’ve got me worried,” Bucky says in an attempt at levity, and it makes Steve snort.

“S’just wolf stuff,” Steve says as if that’s going to make Bucky less nervous. It absolutely doesn’t. “You said you were born wolf, right?” Bucky nods. “Does that mean both of your parents were wolves?”

It’s an easy question, but Bucky’s wary about it all the same. Not because he doesn’t trust Steve, but because he’s certain this conversation is going to end up with him admitting something that he would rather keep well away from Steve. “My parents were, but they didn’t have to be. It follows the mother, so even if the father isn’t a wolf, the kids probably will be.”

“Probably?” Steve’s eyebrows are up.

“There are a couple of other traits that are… just as dominant in the child,” Bucky says eventually after trying and failing to find another way to explain it, reaching right back to his memories of his time in the maternity wards. “If the father’s a witch, the kids will be wolves, but if the father’s Yadin, or Selkie, or one of the handful of others, the kids could be either.”

“Huh,” is all Steve comes out with, so Bucky goes silent and waits for the next question, waiting for the shoe to drop. Finally, he says, “Are you expected to have a bunch of little wolves of your own?”

Bucky splutters, and Steve’s eyes go wide as he stumbles over his words, backtracking. “I didn’t- I mean- It’s just that you’re-” He stops, puts his head in his hands, and groans, which flips a switch in the back of Bucky’s mind that it definitely should not have. Bucky’s wolf leans forward, wanting to get closer, and Bucky reels him back in. “You’re the alpha,” Steve says, muffled through his hands. “Are you expected to have a family like that?”

It’s a valid question, but Bucky’s stumped by it, trying to work out _why_ Steve’s asking. “Um,” he says, off to a good start. “It’s not expected of me, an alpha isn’t succeeded by one of their children.” He frowns a little. “Even if it was, I don’t _want_ children,” he says. “And I don’t even swing that way very often,” he adds before he can help himself.

Steve’s eyes go wide, and Bucky curses his stupid mouth. “You.” He says, stops.

Bucky grits his teeth, narrows his eyes a little. “Problem?”

Steve’s immediately shaking his head, holding his hands up placatingly. “No, not at all, I just. Surprised. I uh.” He stops, Bucky waits him out. “Me too?”

Something in the back of Bucky’s mind lights up at that, an insidious little _you have a chance_ threading through his brain before he shuts it down. Steve’s still staring at him, waiting for a response, and Bucky can’t help himself, snickering as the tension in the room snaps.

“Sorry,” he says, covering his mouth with a hand, and Steve’s response is a little breath that sounds like it might possibly become a laugh. “That was awkward, jeez,” he adds, and Steve’s noise does turn into a laugh, soft, more breath than sound still.

Steve looks like he’s not sure if he should ask any more questions, not sure if he’ll break the tentative truce between them right now and send them right back into awkwardness.

“I’ve uh. Been looking things up,” Steve says, eyes flicking to the laptop then back to Bucky. “You’ve told me a lot but I’m missing a lot, stuff they’d teach to kids in elementary school. It’s… kind of ridiculous,” he says, and Bucky watches in fascination as the pink starts to spread over his cheeks, down his throat. His own awkwardness is quickly forgotten as the want to touch, to follow that spreading pink down and see how far it goes, takes over.

“Like what?” Bucky asks in an attempt to distract his wolf.

“Pack hierarchy.”

“There isn’t really one,” Bucky replies immediately. “The alpha is as far as it goes. Some packs don’t even have that.”

Steve’s eyebrows go up at the last bit like he hadn’t been expecting that. “If that’s the case,” he says with a little frown. “Then how does the… physiology link with it?” He’s somehow turning pinker, and Bucky can’t help but snort despite the turn in a direction he really didn’t want to go.

“Same as humans for the most part,” Bucky shrugs, “Just under half the population have dicks, the rest don’t. Some are bigger, some are smaller. There’s a whole range. Born wolves have a few extra… perks,” he says, trying to say it without saying it. “Mostly because they don’t do anything bad, so they just haven’t disappeared yet. Not because they’re needed.”

“Like?” Steve asks, and Bucky flounders for an example that isn’t the one at the forefront of his mind.

He lifts a finger to his mouth, pulls his lip up to show his teeth. “Bigger canines,” he says before letting his lip go. “More body hair, usually. We tend to be a little bigger, but not substantially.”

Steve seems content with that, nodding a little to himself. “Do you bond as a pack?”

“Like... psychically?” Bucky responds, surprised. “Not really. To our mates, to an extent, but not on a pack scale that I can think of. Maybe in very small packs? Same for emotional bonds, I guess. The bigger the pack, the harder it is to form meaningful connections with everyone.”

That seems to catch Steve’s attention, because he straightens up a little in his chair and says, “Mates? Somehow I don’t think you’re meaning friends.”

Bucky snorts, cursing himself from the inside. “Wolves form relationships, we’re social, that’s how we work,” he says slowly. “Friends, family, pack, we usually have a network of people we can rely on.” He pauses to rub a hand over Winter’s head, ruffling his ears. “Pets too.” He hesitates, but Steve’s still looking at him, waiting patiently, so he gives up the ghost and just tells him.

“Mates are like a partner, a spouse, someone you spend the rest of your life with, but _more_. It’s someone that… resonates with you and your wolf, that all parts of you accept. Someone that accepts all of those parts.”

At that moment it hits Bucky suddenly, something his wolf has known from the beginning if the smug feeling from inside him has anything to say about it. He keeps his mouth shut, clamping his jaw down as it threatens to fall open. His wolf had outright told him, more than once, but it had finally sunk in, as he stared at Steve, perched on Bucky’s couch with the light from the window reflecting off his hair.

Steve’s not just _a_ suitable mate, he _is_ Bucky’s mate. The one to match wits with him, the one to see him as _Bucky_ , not a wolf or a man or a conquest. He’s not just the one that the wolf has chosen, but the one _Bucky’s_ chosen, even without realising it.

He can’t tell him, Bucky decides. _Won’t_. Steve’s too much of a good Samaritan, as soon as Bucky mentions it Steve will be giving himself up to make everyone else happy, regardless of himself.

So no, Bucky has to be sure before he says anything. Not of his own feelings, but of _Steve’s_.

Steve replies without realising Bucky’s inner turmoil, asking, “Can wolves have more than one mate?”

Everything inside him recoils at that, and he shakes his head quickly. “No. Wolves mate for life.”

Steve stares at him, before taking a breath. “And it’s a long life,” he says quietly like he’s made his mind up on something.

“It’s a good life, with them there,” Bucky counters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year everyone!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's uh, sorry. they're _idiots_
> 
> also i've finally worked out the actual chapter count whoo

Later that night, dinner warm in their bellies, Bucky stretches out on the smaller sofa and says, “Can you tell me about your magic?”

Steve doesn’t reply, so Bucky props himself up on one elbow, raises an eyebrow over at the other couch. He’s staring at Bucky, surprise written all over his face. “You don’t … know?”

Bucky flops back onto the couch. “I’m a nurse. I know witch physiology, and the terms generally used to describe witches, but only from an outside perspective. I know you, I know what I’ve seen you do. That doesn’t tell me anything about what you _can_ do.”

Steve hesitates, and Bucky waits him out, scratching the head of the dog who’d crawled his way over from his mat to the couch Bucky’s on.

“I’m a weather witch,” Steve says eventually, and Bucky looks back at him from Winters warm brown eyes. “Or, I will be once I’m certified.” There’s a note of bitterness in his voice, and Bucky frowns. Steve waves him off though, glancing over then looking back at the laptop he’d commandeered earlier that day. “Means my strength is in weather-based casting. Controlling water, air. Calling lightning, protecting from storms. We’re really popular in the Navy,” he adds with a grin, and Bucky snorts. “But we can learn other types, what we’re _called_ just states what comes _easier_ to us.”

Bucky wiggles back until he’s braced against the arm of the couch, still scratching Winter’s head. “Is that still based on first cast?” When Steve looks surprised, Bucky grins at him. “We had a lot of kids coming in with injuries ten years back, cause listed as ‘first cast incident’. I got curious, googled it.” He rubs a finger between Winter’s eyes lightly. “Parents have gotten better prepared, we haven’t had a wave like that since.”

Steve gives him an odd look, but nods. “Yeah, first cast. Mine was me calling lightning. Shorted out the entire house’s power, we were in the dark for a few hours before the power company could make it out.” He looks embarrassed, and Bucky watches the flush travel down Steve’s cheeks.

“So they knew you were strong from the get-go?” He can’t help but say, and Steve nods.

“Yeah. The aptitude testing said I was one of the strongest kids on record at the time.”

Bucky’s eyebrows go up. He’d known Steve was strong, can feel it every time he casts, can feel it now, humming under his skin, the power Steve’s throwing off calling to his wolf in was Bucky didn’t want to admit. But, he hadn’t realised exactly _how_ strong that was. The Mayor wanting Steve under his control suddenly makes a lot more sense.

“So,” Bucky prompts when Steve’s quiet for more than a few minutes. “Weather Witch. What can you actually do?”

Steve goes a little pink. “My mentor was very big on me learning things that he couldn’t do.”

“Not much of a mentor then,” Bucky butts in and he reckons he deserves the glare he gets.

Steve’s reply is immediate, but the words are slow like he’s realising them as he speaks. “It’s all the same in theory. Focusing magic, directing it where you want it to go. But I never was able to advance very far with the stuff he didn’t already know. He obviously had no expertise to draw on.”

Bucky snorts, but when he opens his mouth Steve gives him a look. He snaps his mouth shut, teeth making an audible click.

“He wanted me to be his Voyager, but that didn’t work out. Teleportation is something that nobody seems to be _able_ to learn. You’re born with the power, or you’re not.” He takes a breath, and Bucky can’t help the way his eyes drop to Steve’s throat, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows. “I can ‘path people, most of the time it’s only to people nearby - within a hundred yards or so.”

That makes Bucky pause. “So when you called me, while the Mayor had you…?”

Steve shrugs helplessly. “I just thought of you and you were there,” he says. “I don’t know how it happened.”

Bucky shifts his legs until he can lean towards Steve. “What about that-” he waves his hands in the air, “-dusting thing you had going on.”

Steve’s pink cheeks go a shade darker, and he looks at the laptop again. “I don’t know.” Bucky snorts, but Steve speaks a little louder, saying, “I honestly don’t. I remember being angry that he was hurting you, worried because you were in pain, and I just… lashed out.”

Bucky doesn’t even hesitate. He’s on his feet before he realises he’s moving, shoving his way onto the couch next to Steve and wrapping his arms tight around his shoulders. “You’re really something, huh,” Bucky says as Steve finally reacts, lifts his own arms. Then Bucky’s wrapped up in Steve’s warmth, trying to put the possessive lilt to Steve’s words out of his mind.

**

Bucky checks the time, looks at his phone, then sighs heavily, shoving his arms in a sweater. He makes sure the little watch is attached to his pocket before pulling the sweater collar back in place, patting it smooth.

A step out of his bedroom and he immediately feels eyes on him. He smiles a little at Steve, who frowns in response. “Should you really be going to work right now?”

Bucky rolls his eyes as Steve brings it up for what feels like the seventieth time since Bucky’s declaration that morning. “I’m not letting them rule my life,” he says before raising an eyebrow. “Plus, I’m rostered. I can’t _not_ go in.”

“Take leave,” is the stubborn reply.

“I don’t have any left,” Bucky reminds him. “Used it keeping your dumb ass out of trouble.”

He’d burned through all of his leave in the past two weeks, and he really should have been back days ago but his wolf hadn’t wanted to leave Steve alone, not so soon after he’d been taken out from under Bucky’s nose.

 _He’ll be fine_ , Bucky tells himself.

Steve snorts, manages to curl into himself a little more in his spot on the couch. Winter watches on, eyes going between the two of them with a childlike confusion. Reaching down, Bucky scratches behind one of Winter’s ears. “I’m going,” he says. “I’ve got my phone on me, call me if you need me,” he adds, giving Winter one last stroke on the head before grabbing his keys.

Steve watches him sullenly from the couch.

When Bucky walks in the door to the office behind the nurse’s station, he hears a high-pitched “Bucky!” that makes him flinch. Within a few seconds, there’s a rush of feet, and arms wrapped around his waist.

He shakes his head quickly, can’t help the grin that creeps across his face as he hugs the woman currently attached to him. “Claire, hi,” he says, and she pulls back just long enough to flick his nose. He yelps, batting at her hand, and Claire pulls back to glare at him, hands on her hips.

Despite barely coming up to his shoulder, Claire’s formidable, and he almost takes a step back in the face of her ire.

“We all were worried about you,” she says, prodding a finger into his chest. “Taking leave out of nowhere like that.”

“We thought you’d died,” one of the other nurses pipes up from where she’s walking over, coffee mug in each hand. She hands one to him and he takes a grateful sip before kissing her on the cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s actually sincere. He _is_ sorry he worried them, even if he couldn’t exactly have predicted what had happened.

The nurse, Hannah, nudges him with a sharp elbow and adds, “Jace thought you’d moved to another hospital and ditched us all.”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head slightly. “What, and leave all of you? Unlikely. Jace alone, maybe,” he adds as he hears the door behind him open again, knowing exactly who it is.

“Hey,” Jace says, indignant, as he brushes past to put his coat on the rack. “Rude.”

“You know I love you,” Bucky says on a laugh, and Jace returns long enough for them to get through their probably-too-long-and-definitely-too-complicated handshake. He finds himself pulled into a hug, careful of his mug, immediately after.

“My second bet was you’d found a boy-toy to elope with,” Jace continues as laughter breaks out around the room.

Bucky blinks. “That’s… probably the closest guess yet,” he says and ends up with four nurses and a resident all talking over themselves to try and get more out of him.

Work is just as he expected it to be. It’s busy enough to keep him from thinking too hard, and after he’d told a heavily-edited version of the events keeping him away, he finds himself assigned and shoved back into routine.

It’s good, great even. It’s relaxing, doing something he knows, something he’s sure about. It doesn’t stop his mind wandering during the short lulls though, and predictably it wandered back to Steve each time.

Regretting the way they’d parted just a little, Bucky pulls his phone out on his way back to the nurse’s station for his break, opening his message thread with Steve and staring at the blinking cursor.

He’s still struggling to think of how to break the radio silence when he hears Claire’s laughter and a familiar low rumble of words that has everything in him perking up.

Rounding the corner, he can’t help the smile on his face as he walks a little faster. Steve’s leaning on the desk absolutely charming the socks off Claire. Bucky can’t help but let his gaze roam up Steve, from his feet to the back of his head, barely schooling his expression to something a little more normal when Claire says his name and Steve turns his head.

The smile on Steve’s face makes Bucky’s insides turn to goop, and he almost stumbles over his own feet when it’s directed his way. He misses the teasing grin on Claire’s face as he focuses on Steve fully, but flinches a little when she loudly announces, “Your boy-toy came for a visit.”

Bucky chokes on his own spit as Steve turns immediately and vividly pink. Despite that Steve still managed to get a retort out, saying “Does that make you my sugar daddy?” as he shoots a glance towards Bucky. Bucky wants the ground to open up and swallow him. Helpfully, it doesn’t.

Claire cackles, it’s the only word for it, and pats Bucky’s hand where it’s sitting limply on the table. “Take your lunch,” she says, still laughing as she turns back to the computer

Bucky grabs Steve’s hand and heads for the door before any of the curious faces peeking through the office window can turn into further embarrassment for him.

Steve follows almost like it’s an afterthought, and when Bucky glances back he’s looking down at their linked hands with his brow furrowed, eyes soft – thoughtful. “Sorry,” Bucky says, instinctively keeping his grip on Steve’s hand despite the fact that he could – should – probably let go. “She loves to tease the rest of us.”

“Boy-toy?” Steve questions with raised eyebrows, and Bucky’s cheeks warm.

“Uh,” he says. “I’ll explain in a sec. I gotta grab something from the cafeteria. Didn’t bring lunch with me today.”

“I uh. Brought something with me. If you want?” Steve says, holding up the bag in his hand that Bucky had been too embarrassed to notice earlier. Bucky grinds to a halt in the hallway, staring at him. “Is that okay?” Steve asks when he’s silent for too long, and Bucky could kiss him. Nearly does, eyes flicking up to Steve’s face and rocking up on his toes, just catching himself before he leans forward.

“God yes,” Bucky says in a rush. “Anything’s better than cafeteria food.” He changes direction, pulling Steve along until they’re out in the courtyard between the main building and the maternity ward. He walks onto the grass, drops to sit, and smiles when Steve follows suit immediately and sets the bag down.

Bucky finally, reluctantly lets go of Steve’s hand and makes a grabby action at the bag. “What did you bring?” he asks as Steve pulls the bag out of his reach and looks in.

“Wasn’t sure what you liked,” he says slowly, “So I stopped past a deli and got a mix of things.” He starts unloading, and Bucky’s jaw drops at the sheer amount of food Steve had picked up.

“Steve,” he says as he gets handed a sandwich proudly declaring itself as pastrami on rye, fillings all but falling out of the bread encasing it. It looks incredible, and Bucky’s stomach rumbles encouragingly.

“I figured you probably eat a lot,” Steve’s saying, and Bucky watches the containers pile up between them, gently rolls another sandwich towards him to read the label. “So anything that doesn’t get eaten now you can take back and have later?”

“Steve,” Bucky says again, the urge to kiss Steve returning. This time it’s deli-goodies and the sandwich in his hand that keeps him still. Steve looks up at him. And Bucky can’t help the huff of breath that escapes him. “Thank you. This is amazing.”

A shy little smile creeps across Steve’s face, grows until it’s nearly blinding. “Then eat and tell me why your team thinks I’m your boy-toy?”

Bucky hesitates, then recounts the morning between bites. Or at least that’s his plan, but One bite in and he’s moaning before cramming more sandwich in there. “This is heaven in a sandwich,” he groans, eyes closing, and hears Steve make a choked noise. “Where’s this place?” He asks once he’s finished his mouthful and is somewhat more comprehensible.

“Um,” Steve says, and he’s still tinged pink. Or is pink _again_. Bucky’s not entirely sure. “Deli a couple of blocks west from your place, heading away from the park.”

“Show me next time we’re out. This place is going on my list,” he says before pushing more food in his mouth.

He ends up getting through two sandwiches and half a container of potato salad before he actually answers the question Steve had posed him, and by the end of his tale, Steve’s grinning, shaking his head.

“Seriously?” Steve says as he laughs. “That- I can’t-” He stops, bursts out laughing again. Bucky fights a grin, loses, and knows he’s just watching Steve with the dopiest look on his face. He can’t bring himself to stop, though. “That’s ridiculous. _You’re_ ridiculous.”

Bucky shrugs a shoulder, reaches for the pasta salad and his fork when his phone alarm goes off, startling him into nearly dropping both things. “Shit,” he says, switching hands so he can pat around the grass for his phone. “I’ve gotta head back in a few minutes.”

Steve sighs and looks more disappointed than Bucky expects. “Alright, we should pack up.”

After Bucky shovels half the pasta salad into his mouth, The leftover food gets scraped into a single container. Then, Steve’s shoving it in Bucky’s hand before taking their rubbish to the nearest bin. “Take it,” he says on his return, holding out a hand. Bucky takes it, the contact sending a little thrill down his spine. Once he’s standing, Bucky leads the way back through the warren of hospital corridors, coming to a stop at the nurse’s desk.

Jace is sitting there this time, and Bucky suffers through a quick introduction that leaves the other nurse’s eyebrows nearly in his hairline, even though he’s friendly enough with Steve.

He’s not sure what to say when he turns back to Steve, the weight of Jace’s eyes on him, but Steve beats him to it.

There’s a kiss on his cheek before he can process Steve’s movement, and Steve says a quiet, “See you at home,” before waving to Jace and the peanut gallery in the office window, turning on his heel, and heading back down the corridor.

Bucky presses his fingers to his cheek, staring after him, and when Steve reaches the end of the hall he glances back. Bucky’s sure he’s not imagining the smile on Steve’s face or the way he wiggles his fingers in a wave before disappearing from sight.

“’Just friends’ huh?” Jace’s voice cuts through his trance, making him jump. “He’s totally into you.” Bucky snorts, but before he can speak, Jace is continuing. “And I’m sure you’re aware that you like him back.”

“Shut up,” is all Bucky can come up with in response, walking to the office and shutting himself inside.

With almost all of the remaining on-duty nurses, and a couple who were preparing for their shifts.

With all eyes on him, Bucky repeats “Shut _up,_ ” even though no one’s said a word, and shoves the container Steve gave him into the mini-fridge they’ve got set up.

**

Steve’s strangely quiet when Bucky gets home late that night, Winter curled up on the couch beside him.

Bucky gets to business first. “Did you feed him?” he checks with a nod to the dog, and Steve nods wordlessly in response. “Cool. I’m having a shower,” he says before making his escape down the hall.

His shower is quick, but he hides in his room for almost half an hour afterwards, playing with the damp ends of his hair before he shoves that up in a bun and pushes a pen through it to keep it all in place. He takes a breath, girds himself, and leaves the safety of his room.

Steve’s still on the couch, Winter still in his lap. Bucky’s laptop is on the table in front of him, but Steve’s got the sound off on whatever he’s doing, so Bucky keeps his steps quiet, skirts the edge of the living room and goes to the kitchen for tea.

He makes Steve a cup too, sets it on the coffee table when he returns to the living room before retreating to the other end of the couch. Winter’s tail thumps a couple of times on the sofa before the dog stretches, wiggles, and Bucky ends up with a lapful of the less-pleasant end of any animal.

Bucky strokes his fingers down Winter’s back and off his rump, looking at the dog instead of the man at the other end of the couch. He doesn’t make a sound and when Steve sighs loudly it makes him jump in surprise.

“I made it weird, didn’t I?” Steve says, and it’s soft, almost sad. Bucky’s head snaps up fast and he narrows his eyes a little.

“What? No,” he says quickly, and it’s honest, clawed out of his gut in reflex as his wolf rejects the very thought of Steve’s upset. “Why would you think that?”

Steve raises an eyebrow and Bucky frowns, shifting until he’s facing Steve a little better. “Why do you think?”

“You kissed me on the cheek,” Bucky says and Steve shrugs. “That’s it?”

Steve frowns and Bucky echoes the expression. “What do you mean that’s it?” Steve says, and he looks like he’s about to go on when Bucky says his name sharply.

“Steve,” he says again, a little softer. “I promise, It’s fine.” He’s not sure how to express how much he _wants_ what Steve alluded to, but then Steve says something that has the little ball of hope in his chest withering away again.

“I was just wanting to mess with your co-workers, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Bucky grinds his teeth, holds back the crushing blow those words had been, and says, “Trust me, Steve, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it. I’d have done the same thing.”

“Then why are you so quiet?” Steve says, a note of accusation in his voice, and Bucky throws his hands up in frustration.

“Because I had a long day at work, and I was quite happy to just _be_ here on my corner of the couch,” he says, even though it’s not the entire truth. Steve doesn’t need to know, doesn’t need to _pity_ Bucky’s dumb feelings now that Bucky’s all but had confirmation of Steve’s.

He nudges Winter’s ass off his lap and drops his feet back to the ground.

“Buck,” Steve says, a little softer, but Bucky’s done with the conversation, pushing himself to his feet. Bucky waves a hand at him, grabs his mug, and heads for the bedroom. He’s not willing to let Steve see how his words have truly affected him.

“Buck,” Steve says a little louder and Bucky hesitates in the doorway, but ultimately, he doesn’t look back, keeps working his way down to his room. As soon as he’s in the privacy of his room he’s setting his mug on the nightstand and stripping down, letting the wolf out.

With the crack of bone and the burn of the shift, he’s on four feet again, jumping up onto his bed and curling himself up in a tight ball. He licks at his tail, feeling sorry for himself, then sets his chin over his tail and sighs heavily.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but there’s a soft knock at the door. He’s torn, he’s _so_ torn because everything in him wants to see Steve, but the human part of him knows that it’s just going to end in heartbreak.

Before his human brain can explain why it’s such a bad idea, the wolf in him is yipping softly, an invitation if Steve wants to take it.

The door cracks open and Bucky sinks a little lower into the mattress. His traitorous tail thumps once, twice against the covers as Steve sticks his head in. The rest of his big body follows and Bucky kind of wants the ground to swallow him whole, but that’s clearly not happening. Again.

Steve crosses the room and sits on Bucky’s bed. He looks as at-home here as he does everywhere else in the apartment, even if Bucky can scent the confusion on him, can smell how unsure he is of his welcome. “Hey,” Steve says, and Bucky can’t look away from that sad little smile. “I’m sorry. I was outta line.”

Bucky can’t help himself, getting his paws under him and scooting closer on his belly until his nose is almost touching the hand Steve’s got himself propped up on. The man twists, warily reaching out, and Bucky closes his eyes in invitation.

The fingers brushing the top of his head are gentle, but it’s _Steve_ so of _course_ they are. He huffs, nudges his head up into Steve’s hand, gets a scratch behind his ear for his trouble. “I’m sorry,” Steve says again, catching Bucky’s ear between two fingers and stroking it to the tip. Bucky shakes his head to free it, then rests his chin on Steve’s hand instead, because if Steve’s going to pet him like he’s any other dog, Bucky’s not going to say no. Steve’s hands on him in this form is still contact with the man that’s his mate, regardless of the fact that Steve doesn’t want him.

Friends, Bucky tells himself. He can do friends.

“Is it okay,” Steve says into the quiet. “If I stay here for a bit?”

Bucky would frown if he was in human form, but then he’s pretty sure that Steve wouldn’t want to stick around him if he was in human form. So he stays as he is, nudges Steve’s wrist with his nose, and lets out a sigh. Steve shifts then, moving back until he’s fully on the bed, all parts of him well within range of Bucky’s teeth, Bucky’s claws. It’s a massive difference from only a few weeks ago when Steve wasn’t even willing to look Bucky in the eye after he shifted.

Bucky shifts, sets his head in Steve’s lap, and Steve goes very still for a second before a hand lands on the back of Bucky’s neck, stroking up through the thick fur and on, over the top of Bucky’s head.

“You’re softer than I thought you’d be. I don’t know if I told you that last time, but you are.”

Bucky lifts his eyes, but from his position, he can’t see much more than Steve’s chin. He makes a noise to show he’s listening, a low rumble and nudges his nose against Steve’s hand when it goes still.

“You’re- Bucky-” Steve sighs, clearly wanting to say something, and Bucky can smell the frustration on him. He crawls himself forward further into Steve’s lap, yawns until his jaw cracks, and Steve’s scent settles, his hands dragging down Bucky’s back. He goes silent again, and Bucky closes his eyes, lets himself have this, just this once.

**

Bucky’s sitting on his balcony a couple of days later when Steve steps out beside him. The balcony is tiny, barely able to fit the two of them and the dog sprawled at Bucky’s feet, but it’s a welcome taste of the outside world in a city where more and more things are moving towards inside and steel and chrome.

Steve clears his throat a little and Bucky glances up, the little stab of pain in his chest barely registering now. He’s grown used to it in the past week, knows it’ll be part of his life for as long as Steve is, but he’d rather keep Steve as a friend than not feel the loss of him as a mate.

“Hey,” Steve says quietly, and Bucky shifts to the side a little to make room. Steve folds himself up almost comically to fit on the floor of the balcony, and he’s still close enough that all Bucky can smell is him, all Bucky _wants_ is him. His heat warms Bucky from the outside, contrasting the late winter's night to the point where it’s almost _comfortable_ to sit outside.

But he shrugs it off, replies with a soft, “Hi,” as Winter yawns widely. Steve’s knee brushes his, and Steve’s shoulders bump against his with each breath, and it’s _nice_ to just be near him.

“I have a question,” Steve says, and he’s hesitant like he’s not sure he’s entitled to the answer. Which Bucky finds funny because if anyone’s entitled to anything of his, it’s Steve. He’d give the man the world.

“I’ll let you know if I ever have an answer,” he retorts, and Steve slaps his knee lightly, groaning in mock annoyance.

“Ass,” is the reply, then Steve’s pulling a knee up to his chest, and the next words out of his mouth make Bucky freeze in place, smile stuck halfway to full bloom. “Have you ever met your mate?”

It takes him a few breaths to be able to relax, and another few to say, “It doesn’t work like that, not really. We don’t see someone and just _know_.” It’s dancing around the truth, the one thing Bucky won’t, _can’t_ give to Steve. The honest answer to the question Steve’s trying to ask.

“Oh.” Steve pauses, and Bucky glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He’s staring ahead, long fingers toying with the hem of his pants. He’s not got socks on, and Bucky wants to fix that, wants to shoo him back inside where it’s warm. “Have you found your mate?” He tries again, not looking at Bucky, and Bucky’s glad for that. It gives him time to hide the pain on his face.

Bucky’s trying to stay quiet, but the answer claws its way out of him, and a big part of him needs to say it, needs to admit to it. A smaller part of him hopes that if he speaks it into existence it’ll lessen the ache of it. “Yes.”

Steve startles like that had been the opposite of what he was expecting. “Oh,” he says, “ _oh_.” Silence for a minute, two, then Steve’s next words are careful. Not careful enough. “Why haven’t you mentioned them?”

Bucky drops his forehead, pulls his knees up to his chest, feels Steve stiffen beside him. He can almost feel the panic building in Steve, and he finally gets out, mumbled against his pants, “They don’t want me back.”

Steve’s shocked to silence, and Bucky doesn’t say anything more, just closes his eyes and breathes and _breathes_. “How could they not?” Steve finally asks, and Bucky shrugs a single shoulder. The words _you tell me_ are right on the tip of his tongue, but he stays quiet, lets the pain of the conversation wash over him. “What are they thinking?” Steve says, but it’s rhetorical, or at least it seems that way, so Bucky just shrugs again.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Bucky says, and Steve’s quiet for a long minute before he hums in agreement. There’s a hand on his, squeezing, and Bucky’s breath catches before gusting out of him.

“You’ve got me,” Steve says, and _God_ but he can never know. “And Nat, and Sam.” An arm comes around Bucky’s shoulders, pulls him in, and Bucky aches for the touch now that he’s got it, he wants but he knows he can never have.

Bucky shrugs a shoulder, lets himself be pulled until he’s leaning against Steve. He tips his head against Steve’s shoulder and Steve strokes his hand over his bicep, everything about him soft and reassuring. It’s not his fault that he’s also the source of Bucky’s pain. Bucky’s not going to hold that against him.

Eventually, he starts to shiver, the crisp air sinking through his scant layers and finally beating out the sheer amount of body heat he puts off. Steve is quiet beside him, but he’s started too, fine tremors running through him just enough for Bucky to feel. “Inside,” he says, voice a little scratchy. “C’mon, up.”

The only one of them that moves at first is Winter, who stands and fluffs his fur out by shaking from head to toe. He’s lucky, built for the cold, and Bucky envies him his fur even though Bucky could shift into his own. Steve can’t though, and Bucky’s not about to keep Steve out any longer. “Up,” he says again, a little stronger, and Steve groans in response. He unfolds his legs and Bucky follows suit, stretching out cold muscles before clambering to his feet, none of his usual grace left in the face of an extended stint in the cold.

He holds out a hand and Steve takes it, lets Bucky haul him to his feet and Bucky’s so tempted to pull a little harder than he needs to, to get Steve stumbling into his arms. It’d be so easy to make it look like an accident, and Bucky’s so caught up in that thought that it almost _is_ accidental, but he manages to steady Steve with a hand on his shoulder.

Steve smiles at him, tentative and small, so Bucky smiles back, forces it onto his face even as he lets go. “Inside,” he says again and this time it’s a command, wolf sinking into his words. He doesn’t even notice until Steve gives him a look, steps back through the open balcony door and into Bucky’s living room. Bucky follows, shuts the door once Winter’s got his fluffy butt inside as well, then heads to the kitchen.

“Go put socks on,” he says with the same note of command, the same _push_ to obey. Steve gives him a look, so Bucky adds, “They’re making me cold just looking at them.”

Steve snorts, then immediately shivers, so Bucky wins when he heads down the hall to do what he’s been told. Bucky watches him go, then gets to making coffee for them both.

“You heard from Nat yet?” Steve asks from the living room, and Bucky glances over his shoulder to see the big man arranging himself with a blanket on one of the couches. He’s got socks on, Bucky notes smugly.

“This morning,” Bucky calls back as he grabs the mugs, carries them both over to the couch. He hands one to Steve, cradles his own milk concoction in his hands as he drops into the cushions with a grunt. “She’s sniffed out a lead, wants us all to meet at hers to discuss. As much as we’d like to go in guns blazing, he’s _the Mayor_ , and we have to be careful.”

Steve nods in response, is silent for a long moment. “So what,” he asks, “We go and work out a plan?”

“If Nat’s calling us,” Bucky says with a shake of his head. “She already has a plan. She’s just confirming it, making sure it’s foolproof before we actually use it.” When Steve blinks, Bucky leans forward a little. “She’s an attorney, as much as she doesn’t act like it most of the time. If anyone can work out how to use this guy’s loopholes to strangle him, it’s her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies in advance if the next chapter takes longer than normal. I haven't actually written any of it - it's the only chapter in this situation - and i am working 6 of the next 7 days, with my international trip in a week and a half. so please, be gentle if i miss the posting date, but i'll do my best!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bit of a short one, it's been fighting me since i left for my holiday but it is finally passable!! the rest is p uch done so there shouldn't be any holdups like this for the remaining chapters
> 
> also: sorry

“So,” Natasha says as she walks through the door, before immediately going silent. She looks between the two of them and Bucky can see the wheels in her head turning. She stops walking halfway across the room, turns, and gives Bucky a look. He’s familiar with that look, has seen it on her face hundreds, if not thousands of times. It says _I’m here for you_ , it asks _are you okay_ and it promises _I’ll fix whatever’s hurt you_.

Bucky shakes his head, just a little bit. Smiles without teeth. She nods, accepts his plea of _later, please_ , and turns back to the room.

“So?” Steve prompts from his spot on the couch, looking between the two of them. Nat blinks once, then turns back to him, keeps making her way towards the armchair that she always inhabits. Bucky drops back onto the sofa, waits for her to speak.

“I’ve been getting some interesting information from my sources,” she says once she’s settled on the armchair. She’s got her legs slung over the arm of it, and Bucky’s long since given up on fighting her about that. “I’ve brought it to the attention of my contact in the Force, and he’s willing to not only go to bat for us, but to send a small team to several of the Mayor’s properties to investigate further. With warrants.”

Steve lets out a breath that sounds a whole lot like relief. Bucky doesn’t like the way Nat’s looking at her toes instead of at him. “What’s the catch?”

That gets him a direct look – from both of them. “This is big,” Nat responds. “We’re talking money laundering, tax evasion, _genocide_. That’s just what I could dig up proof of in like… two weeks.” She pauses, looks at Steve. “Which means they want me out of the way. I can act as my own attorney in the case, but I can’t get involved in the case from a lawyer’s perspective because I’m not representing anyone beyond myself.”

Her eyes are still on Steve, and Bucky realises where this is going. “But if someone pressed charges, you could step in as their lawyer.”

Bucky watched understanding dawn on Steve’s face, just a beat before Bucky had started speaking, and now his eyes are fixed on Steve’s.

“If you didn’t have that,” Steve says, speaking slowly as he weighs up each word. “How would that impact everything? What we’re trying to do?”

Nat shrugs one shoulder, then reaches out a hand as Winter comes waddling over to her, letting him sniff before scratching between his eyes. “It would slow everything down. The police would be working with what I gave them, they’d have to find their own witnesses, extrapolate information themselves from the evidence they find. The media’s already going to be all over this, it’ll just be worse. The police going up against someone like him? There’d be immense pressure for them to drop the investigation.”

Steve sighs. It’s quiet, but Bucky can’t help but reach out from his spot, touch Steve’s arm. He withdraws quickly but not before Steve glances over at him, smiles just a little.

When Steve does speak it’s steely, his mind clearly made up. “What do I have to do?”

**

Bucky closed the door firmly behind Natasha and didn’t move, leaning against the front door. It took far less effort to drop his head to the wood, to just breathe and try and get his head on straight, than it did just thinking about going back into the living room, into the weird, stilted mess that had become of his relationship with Steve.

Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it, honestly. It had been as easy as breathing, now just looking at Steve brought a dull ache to his chest. He’d ruined it, he knew, he’d hoped and it hadn’t worked out and he’d turned their friendship sour. He wasn’t sure why Steve wanted to be around him still.

“Buck?”

In his more dramatic moments, Bucky could swear that Steve’s voice was grating against his ears, the reminder of what he could have had, and what he’d never deserved in the first place. In thinking that, he acknowledged in that corner of his mind, he was dramatic more often than not.

He took a deep breath, straightened. “Yeah?”

“Just making sure you’re still there,” is the reply. “Everything alright?”

Bucky straightens, fingers brushing against the hardwood before he turns and heads back into the living room.

Steve’s sitting up on the sofa, eyes narrowed, concerned.

“S’fine,” Bucky says quietly. “Just thinking,” he elaborates a bit when Steve raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing anything Bucky’s said. “Do you want to grab something for dinner?”

Steve hesitates. “I was thinking,” he says, and it’s hesitant in a way Steve hasn’t been in a while. “I could make something?”

Bucky blinked. It wasn’t like Steve hadn’t cooked before, and it wasn’t like Steve had never disagreed with Bucky before, but there was something that was making Steve anxious, and Bucky couldn’t help but blame it on himself.

“Yeah. ‘Course. You need any help?”

Steve hesitates, and it’s another blow that Bucky shouldn’t even be noticing. “Keep me company?” Steve says, and Bucky latches onto the opportunity, nods before Steve’s even done talking.

Steve’s good in the kitchen when he’s not overthinking it, and even if the smiles he gives Bucky are a little strained, or don’t quite make it to his eyes, at least he’s _smiling_ , and smiling at _Bucky_ no less.

They’re just finishing up, cutlery clinking against plates and an almost comfortable silence between them, when Steve blurts, “I need to tell you something.” Bucky’s not about to tell him no and nods, wary, certain it’s going to be something like _I’ve got a job and I’m leaving_ or _I’m seeing someone_. Instead, Steve starts with, “Remember what I told you about what I could do?”

Bucky nods again, more confused this time than anything else. “What specifically?”

“I can telepath,” Steve says, touches his temple lightly. “Mostly only short range.” At Bucky’s nod, he continues, “Sometimes, in certain situations, I’ve been known to reach out to people while I’m asleep.” He looks guilty at that, won’t meet Bucky’s eye for a second, but Bucky waits the witch out and eventually Steve’s eyes meet his again.

“What happens?”

“Usually people notice it straight away, the fact that I’m there, so nothing really comes about. Every time it’s happened though It’s like I’ve walked into their dreams or started one if they weren’t dreaming.”

Something niggles at the back of Bucky’s mind then, soft pants in his ear, warm hands on his skin, and Bucky’s wolf leans into it, demands it. It makes him frown a little, trying to work out if that’s what Steve meant – but no, it couldn’t be.

“Why are you telling me this?” Bucky asks, prompts, tries to tease a confirmation out of Steve one way or the other. Instead –

“Because if it happens, I want you to tell me. I don’t want you to think I’m manipulating you or anything.” He’s so earnest, insistent. “I don’t think it’s happened. But it might. We’re so close all the time that it would be weird if it didn’t.”

Bucky opens his mouth, ready to admit it, ready to say what he thinks, damn the consequences. But then his phone starts ringing, and one glance at the screen shows it’s the one person he can’t reject calls from – Sam. So, he sighs, sets his cutlery on the table, and says, “I gotta take this,” with a soft sigh.

**

It’s almost predictable then, that when Bucky finally drops into sleep, he opens his eyes and Steve’s there.

“Hi,” he says, and Steve startles, head jerking up. He relaxes immediately though, smiles open and wide in a way that makes Bucky’s gut twist, for good reasons and bad. His Steve might not smile like that anymore, but this Steve does, and Bucky’s not about to turn down the opportunity to see him happy again. Not even now, when it might actually be his Steve.

“Hey,” Steve says, sinking back into the couch, body open and inviting in a way Bucky can’t refuse. He steps around it, notes absently that it’s his couch, in his apartment, not the unfamiliar place from the last time this had happened. Given the last conversation with his Steve, Bucky’s pretty sure he knows where that last place was, too.

He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, pauses by the couch and Steve spreads his legs enough for Bucky to plant his knee on a cushion. He does, tips forward as Steve lets himself fall backwards. Steve’s smile is soft, warm as Bucky stretches out over him.

It shouldn’t be as comfortable as it is. Bucky’s all sharp angles, Steve’s solid muscle, but they fit together easily, Bucky’s head tucking under Steve’s chin. He feels the brush of something against his hair, hums in content.

“You’re a good blanket,” Steve says, voice rumbling against Bucky’s chest with the way they’re pressed together, making him shiver.

“You’re a passable mattress,” Bucky retorts, can’t help himself, feels Steve’s laugh in the rise and fall of his chest more than he hears it. “Bit hard.”

“Thought you liked me hard,” is the response, and Bucky pinches Steve’s hip in retaliation. He can’t see Steve’s face, but he knows Steve’s smiling, just brushes a kiss against Steve’s collarbone instead.

“I,” Bucky says, can’t think of anything to say after that, just gives up and presses his mouth back to Steve’s collar, to his throat.

“Yeah,” Steve says, soft. “Yeah.”

They stay that way for ages, Bucky can’t tell how long, but it’s a dream so he doesn’t care all that much anyway.

**

Natasha comes to them one night, less than a week later. She’s all sharp teeth, sharper smiles, and when she walks into their home and plants a pair of pistols on the coffee table, Bucky can’t say he’s overly surprised.

Steve’s eyes are nailed to those guns though, like he’s dreading what they’ll do, what _he’ll_ do. Bucky crosses the room to stand next to the couch, next to Steve, and rests a hand on his shoulder. There’s tension in the line of Steve’s shoulders still, but he leans into Bucky’s touch, so Bucky counts that as a win.

“Tomorrow,” Nat says, and Bucky’s breath hitches in his chest. “It’s the only window we have. The cops are moving in tomorrow, and if we let that happen, this fucker will get away with everything scot-free. We need to get to him before they do.”

Bucky nods. While what they’re doing isn’t technically legal, the final act will be. Bucky’s the alpha of the New York City wolf-pack, and it’s his right to deal with any threat to his people, in line with _their_ laws. It was a right that had been fought for, had very rarely been required, but there wasn’t a better reason to have it than this.

“Who’s ‘we’?” He asks, and Nat gestures around the room.

“Us, and-” the doorbell rings, and Nat opens the door to reveal Sam.

Bucky watches as Sam pets Winter in the way the dog had been begging Nat for, then sprawls on the same couch as Steve. “The four of us?” He confirms. Nat and Sam nod in unison. “You need to stay out of the spotlight,” Bucky nods at Nat. “If it gets out that you got your hands on info you shouldn’t have had…”

Nat shrugs. “I won’t be seen,” she says, and Bucky doesn’t question it further. “It’s going down at AP Industries, so at least we won’t be doing this on city property.”

Steve frowns, looks up at Bucky, then over to Sam before landing on Nat. “He’s not supposed to be there. While he’s mayor he shouldn’t be interacting at all with his company.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam says, “He’s been breaking that law since he got into office.”

“Which is why they’re moving tomorrow,” Nat points out. “They can catch him in the act, add another thing to the charges they’ll bring against him.”

“Not if we get there first,” Bucky says, quiet but firm. “What’s the plan?”

“Well,” said Natasha, smile spreading across her face.

**

It went against Bucky’s every instinct to watch Steve walk through those doors first, even if Bucky was only half a step behind him. He’s not even wearing tac gear, something Bucky was even more upset about, but there hadn’t been time to source much more than the few things they had on them.

So, Steve walks into Alexander Pierce Industries in a pair of worn denim jeans, a tee shirt, and a leather jacket. He’d kicked up a fuss about the jacket too, but that had been one thing Bucky refused to let slide. The leather would offer at least _some_ protection from impact.

It wasn’t like Steve had been any better either, only giving in when it came to the shoes when Bucky had very politely asked him if he’d be okay with Bucky taking an extra ten minutes to get involved with everything while he unlaced a pair of boots.

Meaning Bucky was blessedly barefoot as they walked in through the front door, and the receptionist notices immediately. Notices before he realises who’s walked in. His arm moves under the desk, and Bucky tuts as he feels a wave of magic from behind him – Sam cutting the security system to bits.

“Pierce,” Bucky says, and the man scoots his chair backwards, away from the desk.

“Meeting room…” the man stutters out. His voice is shaking, like Bucky’s one breath away from turning rabid. “Forty-third floor.”

Bucky nods, goes to follow Steve to the other door when he pauses, glances back. “You’re going to want to trigger an evacuation, get all the civilians out of here. And yourself, of course.”

He turns back to Steve, nods, and Steve flicks his fingers, sending the doors crashing open. He follows Steve inside as the fire alarm starts to ring, delicate chimes followed by a robotic voice encouraging an ‘orderly evacuation’.

It’s less than a few seconds later when there’s a yell, and the first security guard spots them.

It’s not often that Bucky feels delicate. He’s a big man, an even bigger _were_ , but he barely has time to let his claws out before Steve’s knocked the entire group of guards flying. It’s why Nat had wanted Steve on point, but that didn’t stop the feeling, the demonstration of Steve’s raw power throwing him a bit.

Steve’s like a battering ram, ploughing through the centre of groups of guards – private and federal – with Bucky working on the sides, taking out anyone that escapes Steve’s sweeps, that comes up behind them, that thinks they have a clear shot at Steve.

Sam’s power keeps rolling ahead of them, the man following their progress from the outside, frying weapons, disabling elevators, keeping Pierce’s guys on the back foot.

There’s a touch against his mind when they’ve reached the thirtieth floor, and he knows it almost as well as his own, doesn’t hesitate to let it in.

“Pierce is on the move,” Nat says. “On his way down. Stairs. Probably aiming for thirty-five, where the majority of his private guards are stationed.” She’s gone as quickly as she came and Bucky grabs Steve’s arm, glances around the empty floor.

“Thirty-five. Pierce is on his way.”

**

Steve stiffens next to him when the Mayor smiles. It’s not a nice smile, it makes Bucky’s skin crawl. It’s too self-satisfied, it’s too _confident_. A man with his back against a wall shouldn’t be smiling like that.

Bucky drops his head a little, narrows his eyes. “Alexander Pierce,” he says, the name dropping from his mouth like lead through water. It makes his lip curl, the foul taste of it.

Pierce’s smile widens.

“The New York City pack has found you guilty of attempted murder, and crimes against the pack. There is only one sentence for this – death. What say you?”

“I say,” Pierce’s voice is like slime, making Bucky feel dirty and wrong just for hearing it. “That you should never count your chickens before they hatch. I’d like to introduce you to someone.’

Bucky’s blood runs cold. He takes a step forward as Pierce keeps speaking. “Say hello, soldier.”

The hair at the back of Bucky’s neck prickles and he turns on the spot, eyes widening as he sees the blank look on Steve’s face.

Steve’s voice chills him to the bone, sweeps his feet out from under him and leaves him in freefall.

“Ready for orders, sir.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> time for some drama, i think  
> warnings in the end notes

“Steve,” Bucky gets out, wolf clawing at him, demanding he fixes what's happening.

Steve doesn’t move, just stares ahead at Pierce. Waiting for orders, just like he’d said.

“Didn’t you think it was suspicious?” Pierce is saying, and Bucky growls deep in his chest. “That we had him for two full days but didn’t even attempt to convert him?” Pierce laughs. “It was already done, we just had to make sure that it would hold.”

“What did you do to him?” Bucky demands, claws slicing out of his fingers.

“A backup plan,” Pierce says, snapping his fingers once. Steve steps forward, smooth, and walks until he’s standing in front of the mayor, staring blankly at him. “Soldier,” he says, and Steve doesn’t even twitch. “I want you to turn around.”

Steve does, faces Bucky, and Bucky’s breath stops for a second, then starts up double time. “See that wolf?” Pierce asks, and Steve nods with a jerk. “That wolf hurt you.” No reaction. “He wants to hurt me.”

There’s a reaction then, something flickering in Steve’s eyes before disappearing again. Steve raises his hands, and there’s the crackle of magic, ozone leaking through the air as whatever Steve is doing builds up between his hands.

“He is like all the others,” Pierce says. His voice is still mild as if he doesn’t know what each word is doing to Bucky, how it’s cutting him to pieces. Or, more likely, he knows and is betting on it. “You need to remove him. The city will be safer once he’s gone. That is your mission.”

“Yes sir,” Steve says, wooden. His eyes glow blue, and Bucky knows he won’t be able to talk Steve down, not this time.

He lunges forward as Steve lets loose the magic in his hands, the shift rolling over him as he lets the beast take over. The shift is fast, pain bursting up from the inside out, clothes shredded at his feet. Steve’s magic doesn’t entirely splash off his pelt, and it jars Bucky, reminds him exactly how powerful Steve is.

He shakes it off, digging claw-tipped fingers into the tile. It cracks under the pressure. Bucky hopes he doesn’t.

He reaches out with his mind even as he dodges another blast – _lightning, Steve? Really?_ – and a snarl rips out of him when he’s blocked by the magic swirling around Steve. He dodges the third strike as the sound of fighting finally builds behind him, Sam swooping in to save the day like he does best, but he keeps his focus on Steve. He tries to link their minds again, gets slapped away, both mentally and physically as Steve switches to a direct blow, the punch landing on the side of Bucky’s jaw and cracking his head to the side. Bucky lashes out with a hand, keeping his claws in, and knocks Steve to the ground, the witch letting his guard down for his own strike.

He pounces then, plants his feet between Steve’s thighs, knees at Steve’s hips to trap his legs. He forces his body through the shift, bulk dropping away as he grabs Steve’s wrists, pins them to the ground with newly-human hands.

“Steve,” he says, growls. Steve swears at him, throws his body to the side, and Bucky has to sink his weight down, struggle to keep him in place. He knows he doesn’t have long before Steve stops reacting and starts thinking. Before Steve remembers he can cast without his hands and sends Bucky flying, or worse – kills him on the spot. Bucky shifts his grip, gets both of Steve’s hands pinned with his left, and grabs Steve’s chin with the other to hold his head still. The metal of his left arm whirrs, strains under the pressure of keeping Steve’s hands still.

“Steve,” he gets out again, and Steve’s eyes widen a little as Bucky gets up in his face, presses his nose to Steve’s. “Come back to me.”

Steve growls in response, but he’s struggling less so Bucky takes a breath, takes a _chance_.

“Steve,” he says a third time. “Please don’t punch me for this.”

Bucky drops his head and kisses him.

The lightning-scent of Steve wraps around him, gets to his head as magic flickers through him, glides over his skin.

Steve goes completely still under him, and Bucky wonders if he’s made the right choice. Closes his eyes anyway, sticks with it, then Steve’s lips part under his and he gasps when his lip gets caught between Steve’s teeth. Another flare of magic, this time warm instead of white-hot, and he knows at that moment that it’s _Steve_ under him, not Pierce’s puppet.

As if to prove it, there’s no sharp bite, just a tug, then Steve’s tilting his chin up and Bucky gives into the silent request, kisses him again. This time Steve pushes up into it, and when Bucky pulls back there’s a quiet whine. He opens his eyes and Steve’s staring back at him, the real Steve. There are still the remnants of magic in his gaze, just a flicker of the glow from before, but it’s more controlled.

“Bucky,” Steve says it like he’s grabbing onto the word, like it’s his lifeline, and Bucky presses their foreheads together and breathes him in.

Bucky strokes his fingers down Steve’s cheek and reluctantly lifts his head, scanning the immediate area around them. They’d managed to end up off to the side, so everything’s going on to their left, and Bucky drops his head again.

He brushes his lips over Steve’s lightly then sits up fully, releasing Steve’s arms. Hands end up on his hips immediately and he raises an eyebrow. Steve goes pink, but the hands stay in place, thumbs stroking over Bucky’s shift-bared skin.

Bucky hears a noise and his head jerks up, then he jumps to his feet as he sees a figure bolt from the pack. _Stupid_ , he curses himself, _stupid_. He’d let Steve distract him from the reason they were there in the first place. He doesn’t regret it though. Not in the slightest. “C’mon,” he says, pulling Steve to his feet when the man holds out his hands. “We’d better go after him."

Steve watches the fleeing witch for a split second, then nods.

Pierce is old, but he’s wily, and it takes Bucky longer than he’d expected to catch up. He goes to dive, to grab the old asshole around his legs and take them both down when he’s hit from the side and sent flying.

He hits the wall with a crack and his breath is forced out of him, pain radiating through his back in a way that’s familiar yet not.

He hits the ground with a thud, hisses out a pained breath, and waves a hand at Steve. “Follow him!” The words are more air than sound, but Steve nods, puts his head down, and keeps running.

There’s a noise somewhere near Bucky’s feet and he shoves himself upright with a groan. The thing that hit him – the _person_ who hit him, looked like he was coming in for another blow, and it took Bucky a second to place the face.

“Rollins,” he growls, and there’s a toothy grin in response. Another member of the team that had kidnapped Steve, another protector of the Mayor. Another fanatic needing to be stopped.

“Puppy,” is the response, and Bucky’s wolf yanks at his hold on it, snarling. Bucky barely manages to keep his face impassive, but his claws slide out, pricking at his palms. “You’re in my way.”

“I’ll stay right here then,” Bucky replies, lungs finally cooperating and letting him take a full breath. “Because you’re not going anywhere.”

“I really didn’t want to hurt you,” Rollins says, and it makes Bucky laugh, a cruel bark of a noise that has the desired effect in the other man’s flinch. “Fine, I do, but you’re less important right now so I’m gonna have to get past you.”

Rollins brings his hands up, but Bucky’s already shifting, throwing himself across the distance between them. His beast comes bursting out as he shifts fast and hard, and he only just misses the witch’s throat by the skin of his teeth.

Landing with a thud on all fours, he spins to follow the witch, shrugging off the blasts of magic being sent his way. He growls low in his throat, bares his teeth, and has the great pleasure of watching Rollins flinch before he winds up for another strike.

Bucky snarls again, dodges the strike before launching one of his own, a massive side-swipe of a paw that Rollins barely manages to avoid. Bucky follows it up with another, then a snap of his jaws, getting closer and closer to connecting as he keeps the witch off-guard.

Looking back, he probably got lucky. But in the moment when his claw catches on a Velcro strap from Rollins’ Kevlar vest, Bucky just bares his teeth and yanks forward. Rollins stumbles forward, and Bucky gets his other hand up, claws slashing across the space between them.

With a disgusted noise, Bucky drops the body, shaking himself out. He pricks his ears, takes a breath, then follows after Steve, trailing his scent as his magical signature calls to Bucky like a beacon.

It’s a weaving set of corridors and branches, but Bucky eventually finds himself near the offices at the top of the building. It’s predictable is what it is, that Pierce has led them here.

Bucky drops to all fours as he approaches, softening his steps as he listens out for any voices.

There’s nothing, which is far too suspicious, so he carefully makes his way to the door before kicking it open.

His eyes are immediately drawn to Steve as he enters the room. There’s magic twining around his fingers, a shimmer that Bucky can only see because he knows what to look for. Steve’s got his hands held up and ready, and Bucky’s head swings to the side to look at Pierce.

The other witch is in a similar stance, but Bucky can already tell that they’re at an impasse. Steve’s the stronger witch, Bucky can taste the magic pouring off him, but Bucky knows exactly how fast Pierce can cast, and how clever the man can be with his magic.

One thing’s for sure though, Pierce’s sleeper command isn’t working anymore – otherwise, he’d have used it.

Bucky stalks forward until he’s closer than Steve is, close enough to get Pierce looking between them. Close enough to disrupt his concentration on Steve.

Bucky reaches out with his mind, gently tapping Steve’s presence in a request for entry, and he’s just made the connection when another scent detangles itself from the scent of dirt and witch and magic.

Bucky snarls and the sound is a whip crack in the silence.

“Brock,” Steve says from behind him, and Bucky widens his stance. There’s no way in hell he’s letting Brock get near his witch.

“Steve. Wolf.” Brock’s voice is almost polite, and Bucky bares his teeth. Brock shuts his trap and raises his hands. There’s magic curling around one, looking like sludge, and the other has a gun, barrel pointed right at Bucky.

It’s Steve’s turn to growl when Bucky flexes one hand and the barrel of the gun shakes a little with how tightly the man is holding it.

Bucky tips his head slightly to the side, pushing words into Steve’s head as he stares down the witch blocking the way to Pierce. _He’s trying to distract us_ , he says, and Steve barely twitches at the intrusion. _Pierce is going to make a run for it. Can you do something to jam the gun, distract him, anything?_

Steve glances over at Bucky and nods, just the tiniest dip of his chin before his focus is back on Brock. “So, Rumlow,” he says. The name startles Bucky, not expecting it at all, but he holds himself still. Brock’s attention is on Steve, but the gun is unwavering as it points to Bucky and he doesn’t trust the man not to twitch and send a bullet his way.

“How does it feel to be the puppet of an old creep?” Steve asks, sounding like he’s having a conversation at the office water cooler, not facing off with someone that wants him dead.

Brock scoffs. “You tell me, boy. You were his puppet for eighteen years.” The gun’s lowered a little as Brock focuses on Steve. Bucky doesn’t move but tenses a little when he hears an ominous sound. It’s a slow repeating thump, like someone running up the stairs, but it’s coming from too far away and he flicks his ears, trying to get a better direction for it.

The thrumming noise gets closer just as a shadow falls over the glass windows, and Bucky shifts his gaze to see the one thing they hadn’t planned for.

A helicopter’s approaching, slowing, and Bucky realises at that moment that Brock’s just there to buy time.

Pierce is slinking backwards slowly and Bucky nails him with a glare, but that doesn’t stop him, just slows him down a little. _Steve,_ he says, poking his connection to his witch. _We need to do something_.

“At least I realised the truth and got out. But you knew, didn’t you?” Steve is saying, voice a low growl that _shouldn’t_ be doing things to Bucky, but it is, it is and he wants to poke the proverbial bear, wants to see if he can get Steve all growly and pushy once they’re all alone.

He gives himself a mental slap, eyes on the gun again, and it’s dropped a little further. Steve doesn’t look his way and Bucky knows he has to trust Steve, does, trusts him with his _life_ , so he keeps himself still and waits for his moment.

“You knew, and still you stayed.” Steve takes a step forward and Bucky has to force himself to be still, to not reach out for Steve and hold him back.

Brock laughs, and it’s cruel, twisting, makes Bucky’s skin crawl and his fur stand on end. “Of course I knew! We all did!” he waves the hand with the gun around, indicating the whole building. “You and a few low-level employees were the only ones who were too dumb to see it.”

Bucky bites back a growl but Steve doesn’t even try, the noise coming from him one that any wolf would be proud of. “So, what, it’s for the money?”

“Money, power, all of it,” Rumlow says, and Bucky’s eyes lock onto Steve when the man gives the slightest nod. Pierce has almost made it to the balcony door, and Bucky hesitates, knowing that Rumlow will drop his guard as soon as the mayor is gone. It’s a delicate balance, but Bucky reaches out to Steve again, says _as soon as Pierce is through that door, put shields up around Rumlow to stop him from hitting us._ Steve nods again, a tiny dip of his chin. _I’ll go for Pierce, you take this creep out_.

A pause, then Bucky adds, _if you die I’ll kick your ass_ just as the exterior door swings shut behind the mayor.

Bucky throws himself forward as Steve’s hands flicker, trusting his witch, his _mate_ , and when Rumlow finally reacts (slow, he’s so slow when he thinks he’s got the upper hand) Bucky’s already halfway across the room and closing in on the door.

He doesn’t bother trying to work the handle with his claws, just slams his full weight into the damned thing. It shrieks, the most ungodly noise Bucky’s heard in a long time, and the hinges melt like butter under the impact, giving way as though there hadn’t been any there in the first place.

There’s a yell from behind him, a grunt of pain, and Bucky can’t help but listen, hope that’s not Steve.

He trusts his mate and keeps running.

There’s a flight of steps, slippery enough that he has to watch his feet as he goes up, then the helicopter landing pad is _right there,_ and the helicopter is swinging in to land.

Pierce is standing in the middle of it, and Bucky growls, leans forward, and stalks his way across the distance between them.

Pierce is doing his best to look impassive, to look like he’s not worried, but the stench of fear is in the air, curling around the old witch like a lover. He bares his teeth and Pierce doesn’t flinch, but there’s a gleam of panic in his eye.

The helicopter touches down, and the door swings open.

Bucky takes a few running steps, has to drop his head under the still-spinning rotor blades as Pierce gets into the helicopter, swings the door closed.

Bucky’s not about to let that be the end of it.

He growls again, more to himself this time, and finishes closing the distance as the helicopter starts to lift off the ground. It swings sideways in a sharp movement and Bucky lunches forward, grabbing onto the rail and holding on tight. The whole thing jerks, then the pilot jerks the whole machine towards Bucky, then away in a sharp movement. It drags them along the landing pad and Bucky digs his claws in, drops one hand to the ground and shoves his claws into the hot asphalt.

It gives way under the pressure and Bucky holds on for dear life.

The scent of petrichor blending with ozone.

Bucky doesn’t look up, but the feeling of magic surrounds him, familiar signatures, and suddenly his claws lock on a little better, the helicopter is less of a pull against him. He hears a yell, tinny and echoing, then with one final yank and a push from the magic crawling over his skin he drags the helicopter back to the ground.

The blades hit the ground with a shattering crack and Bucky drops his head, covers it, and keeps himself in his beast form because it’s more likely to survive a hit.

The shriek of metal is something Bucky knows he’ll be hearing in his dreams, the heat of fire, and he covers his ears a little better, curling up, keeping everything as out of the way as he can

Nothing hits him.

The cacophony turns to silence and Bucky waits another heartbeat longer before lifting his head, letting himself sink back into his human form. There’s debris scattered everywhere, and two figures standing at the edge of it.

One, he realises. The other is running towards him.

He looks up and realises what’s happened. There’s the shimmer of magic in the air just above his head, a shield made of pure will, and when Bucky touches it it’s solid, sends a shiver of energy through him. The shield dissipates as someone hits the ground on their knees next to him and Bucky blinks, shaking his head in an attempt to get his brain working.

Then there’s hands on his shoulders, dragging him forward, and he barely gets out “Steve-” before there’s a mouth on his.

Bucky can’t help it, can’t help but sink into the kiss as he gets one hand up, cradles Steve’s face. There’s the hot curl of tongue, barely a tease before Steve’s pulling back and yanking him into a bone-crushing hug.

“You idiot,” Steve says into his hair. “You absolutely amazing _fucking idiot_.” Steve’s hands are going to leave bruises in his skin, and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to want to let go ever, but Bucky gets his arms around Steve and sags forward.

He gives himself a few seconds just to breathe Steve in, and when he lifts his head Steve’s on the same page, brushing the softest kiss Bucky’s ever had to his lips before standing up. He holds out his hands and Bucky gladly takes them, letting Steve haul him to his feet.

Once he’s upright Bucky glances around, catches Sam standing over someone. He can’t help himself, growls low in his throat and Steve shivers a little beside him.

Bucky stalks forward, careful of his bare feet with all the debris, and Steve’s almost _radiating_ worry as he follows. He sees Pierce, still alive, knows the man saved himself rather than the helicopter as a whole. Bucky spares a thought for the poor pilot, then narrows his eyes.

“My Voyager can lock onto my face,” Pierce says, still sounding like he’s got the upper hand despite lying on the ground, unable to walk. His legs are limp, and the realisation that he wasn’t as strong as he’d always seemed hits Bucky like a freight train. Guilt claws at his gut, knowing that he’d let the man get away with so much when he probably could have stood up to him. He shakes the thought away.

Bucky starts to cross the distance as Pierce’s gestures become more overstated, more desperate. “Well,” he says, claws sliding out. “I guess I’ll have to make his picture out of date.”

The man scrambles back on his hands, dragging himself across the floor as Bucky approaches, and Bucky has a flash of pity before he reminds himself that pity only gets his friends, his pack, hurt. Sam lets him go, just watching it all unfold.

So, he’s unforgiving as his claws strike out, unmoving as red lines cut across Pierce’s face from one cheek to the other. Impassive at the yelling that is coming from the witch.

“There’s a special place in hell for monsters like you,” Pierce spits as he wipes blood off his face, and Bucky shrugs it off. He’s long since learned not to take jabs at his species personally.

“I hope it’s right next to where they keep monsters like you,” he responds, checking his nails for blood as soon as he pulls his claws back in.

“That way you can see that I’m living a long and happy life while you rot.” Bucky drops to his haunches, eyes narrowing a little as he blocks a weak strike from the witch. “Not so tough without your magic, are you?” he says, flexing his fingers around the man’s wrist until Pierce yelps. That’s where he keeps his grip, letting the ache settle in to stay. “But before you go on your way down to Hades, there’s someone who wants to have a word with you.”

Bucky whistles, the high-low signal summoning Natasha, and she melts into being out of the shadows where she’d kept herself hidden. There’s no recognition on Pierce’s face, but neither of them had expected there to be. Sam steps back, and Steve moves forward on Bucky’s other side until they’re surrounding the witch, leaving him with nowhere to go.

“Alexander Pierce,” Nat says, silky voice not betraying her thoughts in the slightest. “I believe you’re the one responsible for humans trying to destroy my species?”

There’s a beat of silence, then a quiet, “Yadin?”

Nat nods.

Pierce spits at her feet. “You disgust me,” he says, and Bucky tightens his grip on the man’s wrist.

“That’s no way to talk to a lady,” Steve says, and Bucky grins with more teeth than probably necessary.

He squeezes once, straightens, and says, “These two have a bone to pick with you,” as he lets Pierce’s wrist go. “In fact if I were you, I’d be starting to grovel.”

He steps back again, and Steve glances back at him, just a split second, frowning. “They’ve suffered more at your hands than you’ll suffer at theirs,” Bucky adds, before straightening his spine, turning, and walking back to Sam.

It doesn’t take long.

Steve’s at his side by the time Bucky’s made his way to the other witch, big arms curling around Bucky’s waist and yanking him in tight. Nat’s a few steps behind, meandering almost, and Bucky can’t help but sway before letting himself lean into his mate.

The four of them stand there, just breathing, and Sam reaches out, puts his hand on Nat’s shoulder. Instead of pulling away like Bucky expects, she leans into him, and Bucky raises an eyebrow in her direction. She just raises one back, eyes dropping to the way Steve’s holding onto his waist, to the way Bucky’s hands are tight on Steve’s biceps.

Bucky thinks he’s made the right decision in staying quiet.

He reaches one hand out, reluctantly parting it from Steve’s skin, and touches Sam’s cheek, leans forward until he can brush it over Nat’s hand. “Thank you,” he says, soft. “You’ve saved my pack, my people.” He looks at Natasha. “I’m sorry we couldn’t do it in time for yours.”

“There’s enough of us,” Nat replies, “Now that he’s gone, we’ll be safer.”

Bucky squeezes her hand, smiles a little, then looks at Steve.

Steve’s staring back at him, face a careful mask. That alone gives away plenty, but Bucky doesn’t know what to expect, especially not when Steve glances at the other two before speaking.

“You,” he says, sharp, eyes dark with the promise of _something_. Bucky wants to find out what it is, wants to crawl up into Steve’s arms, into his space, into his _heart_ and never leave.

“Me,” Bucky says instead of what’s running through his head.

“You _said_ ,” Steve says, “That you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

Bucky grins, can’t help it, and Steve looks like he’s ready to shake apart with the anger inside him. “It must have rubbed of on me,” He says, eyes for no one else despite the snorting noise coming from his left.

“You,” Steve says again, then cuts himself off. He stares for a second, like he’s making up his mind, then Bucky’s being dragged forward. His palms slide off Steve’s shoulders and he stumbles, then he’s pressed right up against Steve from head to knee, and he barely has a chance to gasp before Steve’s mouth his hot on his again.

This time Bucky’s expecting it, almost counting on it, and he gets one hand on Steve’s shoulder. The other cups Steve’s jaw, pulls him in, strokes the skin.

Steve’s hands shift to his ass at the same moment Bucky jumps, and Steve catches him easily, as easily as he’s making Bucky weak with the wicked curl of his tongue.

As soon as Bucky’s got his weight settled, he drags his other hand up into Steve’s hair and holds on for dear life. He can’t help it, wiggles just a little until he’s pressed right up against Steve again, sighs into the kiss as someone off to the side says, “Finally, damn.”

Bucky pulls back a little and Steve nips at his lower lip, pulls it out before letting it go and looking thoroughly annoyed that he’d been interrupted. Bucky likes that look on his face, likes it a lot, heat curling in his gut.

Bucky’s considering doing something about that when there’s another noise from his left, a clearing of the throat that has Bucky growling low in his throat. He turns, more instinct than anything else, and glares when he sees Sam and Nat still standing there, matching smug looks on their faces.

“About time,” Sam says, “I’ve been tired of your whining.”

Steve grumbles something wordless against Bucky’s jaw, the wet press of lips making him shiver, and Nat snorts.

“Go home,” she says, “Before you embarrass yourselves.”

Bucky bares his teeth and she does it back with a delicate twist of her lip. Bucky knows better than to start that with her, instead turns his head back to Steve. Steve who’s staring at him now, expression warring between _what_ and _how_ in a way that’s making Bucky’s head hurt in sympathy.

He leans forward, brushes a kiss over each of Steve’s eyelids as they flutter closed, presses a third to his nose. The fourth to his lips is soft, sweet, and Bucky wants more. He wants a million more of those kisses, he wants to wake up to them and be greeted by them and fall asleep to them. He wants everything, and he knows he’s in deep. His wolf won’t let him have it any other way.

Steve makes a quiet noise and Bucky chases it, wanting to illicit more, but a hand hits the back of his head in a gentle cuff that makes him turn, snarling and barely stopping himself from snapping.

“Go. Home.” Nat says. “Now.”

Bucky looks at Steve, looks back at her, then looks at the debris littered around them. He’s pretty sure it’s still smoking in places.

“But,” he says, sense of duty winning out, but she doesn’t let him get any further.

“Go. Otherwise, _you_ can talk to the police for the next six hours.”

Bucky drops his legs, keeps one arm on Steve’s shoulder, and without a word, pulls him towards the steps.

Steve’s hand slides into his but doesn’t pull them to a stop so he keeps going, back into the office, past what’s left of Rumlow, out into the hall. He bypasses the main stairwell and goes for the service one at the back of the building, glancing over to see Steve’s dark eyes watching his every move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for movie-typical violence, and a moment where bucky kisses steve without his explicit consent, though that's quickly resolved
> 
> one chapter left!!! thank you all for sticking with this ♥


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm probably going to hate this in the morning so be prepared for some minor edits over the next couple of days!
> 
> alas, it is finally complete, this labour of love. it's been rattling around in my head for so long and i'm so glad i managed to not only get it all out on paper (and within a year of coming up with the idea too!) but also i'm so, so thankful for everyone who's read along and commented and supported me in this, who's enjoyed this world as much as i have. you're all amazing and i love each and every one of you

They don’t speak until they’re home. It takes nearly an hour to weave through the emergency vehicles, to make it to the car and Bucky’s spare clothing tucked inside of it, but Bucky doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand the entire time.

As soon as the front door of his apartment opens though, Steve’s shoving him through, slamming it shut. There’s a bark from deeper in the apartment, but Bucky’s attention is well and truly caught by the tongue Steve’s attempting to shove down his throat.

Bucky makes a noise, a sort of gasping moan, and Steve walks him backwards into the wall, right there in the entryway.

“Buck,” Steve breathes against his lips before kissing him again, hard enough to shove Bucky’s head back against the wall.

Bucky doesn’t hesitate, just gives himself up to Steve like he’s been wanting to from the start. He gets his hands in Steve’s hair and Steve hauls him up, then his legs are around his mate’s waist again.

Steve’s hot and heavy against him but he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything but kiss the sense out of Bucky and it’s okay, it’s exactly what he needs right now. Bucky kisses back like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, pulls at Steve’s hair and sobs into his mouth at the feel of it.

“We’re here,” Steve says against his mouth, hands sliding down to Bucky’s waist and holding him tight. “I’ve got you, we’re here.”

Bucky makes a noise again, halfway to a sob, and drags Steve back in, can’t bear to be separated from him, not right now, not anymore.

Steve’s hands slide up his sides, blazing trails of heat, and Bucky moans into Steve’s mouth. It’s shaky, but Steve seems to understand because there are hands on his ass, holding him steady as Steve pulls back from the wall.

Then he’s walking, past the dog watching them from the couch, and when Steve hesitates Bucky looks up for a second. Steve’s hesitating in the doorway to his room and Bucky lets out a noise, a fraction louder than a sigh. “Please,” he says quietly. “I want.”

He doesn’t bother finishing that thought because Steve’s walking again, reeling him into another kiss as he slowly sets Bucky down at the edge of the bed.

Bucky lets go of his grip on Steve’s waist reluctantly, then Steve’s kneeling at his feet, kneeling in supplication, and Bucky doesn’t even have time to speak. Words catch in his throat as he looks at Steve, and Steve looks back. The look on Steve’s face is dangerous, Bucky knows it, dangerous because Bucky might end up believing him. It’s adoring, tender, it says _it's you,_ _it's us, this is everything_ and Bucky can get drunk on it. Steve’s cupping Bucky’s hands, bringing them up, kissing every knuckle, and Bucky’s almost shaking with it because Steve, _Steve_ , Steve’s treating both sides the same, just as tender over metal as he is over skin and bone.

Steve kisses each of Bucky’s palms and Bucky lets him, can’t do anything to stop whatever Steve has planned. Steve places Bucky’s hands on his shoulders and Bucky digs his fingers in, the firm muscle under Steve’s thin shirt grounding him as Steve continues.

A kiss to each of Bucky’s knees then hands gripping gently, nudging them apart. Bucky relaxes and lets Steve move him, tries to pull him in closer with his grip on Steve’s shoulders but the witch just smiles and holds his ground.

“You,” Steve says, and it’s warm, soft, almost reverent. “You’re perfect,” he says, and Bucky can’t find it in himself to laugh, even though he can’t believe what Steve’s saying. The look on Steve’s face makes him _want_ to believe, makes him want to _be_ the person Steve sees in him.

“Please,” Bucky says instead of trying to put that into words. Steve obliges, hands gentle on Bucky’s thighs as he pushes up, catches Bucky’s mouth. Bucky leans forward into it, sighs, curls into Steve and grabs at his shirt for something, _anything_ to hold onto.

Steve rocks forward, presses his lips to Bucky’s clothed chest, rests his forehead over Bucky’s heart and just breathes for a second instead of trying to speak. Bucky doesn’t question it, _him_ , just grips a little tighter and says, “I’m safe. You saved me.”

Steve surges up, high as Bucky drops his head a little lower, and their mouths meet with a click of teeth before Steve’s hand is on his chin, nudging it to one side. Then the kiss slots into place, Steve’s mouth warm and sweet and _Bucky’s_.

The hands on him move to his hips, curl in the hem of Bucky’s shirt and he nods, once, sharp. He doesn’t bother pulling away to speak, just moves his arms and lets Steve work the tee up his body, cloth scratchy against Bucky’s heated skin. He grabs at Steve’s in return, tugging, and feels his claws prick out before he’s pulling, tearing it away in a clear demand. The torn fabric flutters to the ground between them and Steve pulls his head back for a second, a second too long, to glare before claiming Bucky’s mouth again.

Bucky smooths his hands down Steve’s chest, just touching, then slides it up to cover Steve’s pecs, to squeeze a little and stroke. A nip to Steve’s lips and the man’s pulling back, nudging Bucky’s head up with a gentle finger before pressing a wet kiss to Bucky’s throat.

Bucky lets his head fall back at that, grips a little tighter, and lets Steve do as he pleases. His shirt is whipped up and discarded a moment later. Then, teeth are setting against his collarbone, and Bucky moans, hips twitching forward to find nothing but air.

Another kiss, wet, against Bucky’s shoulder, over the scars bordering his arm. A third to his chest, lingering against bruised skin, still so gentle. Bucky clutches at Steve’s hair, hands abandoning their posts in the face of what Steve’s doing, what he’s promising to do with his gentle touches, his warm looks.

“I,” Bucky tries, but Steve shushes him with a look, makes his way down Bucky all too quickly for the taste of some parts of his body. He’s gentle over the blooming bruises though, pauses over the worst spot at Bucky’s ribs and presses the softest of kisses there like he’s making a promise.

Steve nuzzles into the crease of Bucky’s hip, all but hidden with the way Bucky’s sitting, then he mumbles, “Shower,” against his skin. Bucky takes it as a command but still doesn’t move, waits until Steve’s up and holding out both hands for Bucky. He takes them both, holds onto Steve tight, lets Steve drag him to his feet.

He’s led to the bathroom and told to stand still with nothing but a look before Steve grabs towels out of the cupboard, gets the water on. Bucky watches him, can’t help it, watches the shift and flex of muscles under skin and the way he glances back, smiles all soft and sweet.

When Steve’s happy with the water he turns and is back in Bucky’s space, pressing the softest of kisses to Bucky’s lips before saying, “Wanna get in?”

Bucky pouts, grips Steve’s hips to keep him exactly where he is. “Only if you come with me,” he says, smiles when Steve’s grin becomes blinding.

Steve’s hands slide down from Bucky’s waist to the hem of his track pants, nudge them down a little. “Off,” Bucky says as he goes for the button on Steve’s pants, gets it open after some fumbling. He can’t help himself, drops a hand down to cup Steve’s dick through his pants, and Steve gasps, grabs his wrist before he can do anything more.

He doesn’t move Bucky’s hand away though, just holds it in place. So, Bucky squeezes a little, until Steve’s growling under his breath and yanking Bucky’s pants down one-handed.

“Shower,” he says, sharper. Bucky gives in, focusing his fingers on the zipper, then on getting the fabric out of the way. He drops to a crouch to pull the pants off Steve’s feet then glances up, unable to help himself.

Steve’s staring down at him, eyes dark and skin flushed, but that’s not what has Bucky’s attention, not now. Steve’s cock is well on it’s way to being hard, solid enough that the tight black fabric of Steve’s underwear isn’t doing anything to hide it. Not that it would anyway, Bucky reasons, but it’s more prominent now, calling to Bucky like a siren song that he can’t resist. He leans forward, drags his tongue up the thick line of Steve’s cock, and Steve’s hips jerk. There’s a punched out noise from above and Bucky looks up through his lashes to see Steve staring at him, mouth hanging open as he draws in heavy breaths.

He licks again, smaller, and Steve gets a hand in his hair, pulling him back. He looks up, tilts his head back into the pressure of Steve’s hand and Steve says, “Shower,” again though it’s a little more cracked, a little less demanding and a little closer to a plea.

Bucky gives in, stands, and Steve yanks him in tight, kisses him quick and fierce before pulling back. Hands are back on the waistband by Bucky’s knees and pushing, and the sweatpants fall away easily. Bucky steps out of them, steps back, keeps putting one foot behind the other until he’s stepping up into the shower box, into the hot spray of water.

He can’t help it, tips his head back and moans as the water hits his skin, works its way over sore muscles. Steve’s there a second later, underwear discarded, and Bucky’s reaching for him before he’s even fully in the shower box.

Hands land on Steve’s chest then Bucky’s sliding them down, pulling Steve in with a sharp tug. Steve comes closer, close enough for Bucky to have an excuse to slip a hand between them, stroke curious fingers up the length of Steve’s cock.

Steve’s hand grabs his wrist but doesn’t stop him, doesn’t pull him away, so Bucky doesn’t stop. He curls his fingers around it, rubs his thumb just under the head and opens his mouth.

Steve cuts him off before he can speak, kissing him again, hard but slow this time. His tongue curls in deep, flicks over Bucky’s, and he can’t stop the moan that bubbles out of him, doesn’t even try.

One of Steve’s hands leaves Bucky’s body, quickly followed by the other, and he glances down with a pout ready to go. Steve’s got the soap bar between his hands, is rubbing them together, and Bucky leans his shoulders back until he hits the glass wall.

Steve smiles and it’s nothing like his kiss, nothing like the pushy way he’s been handling Bucky. It’s soft, sweet as anything, and Bucky melts in the face of it. His breath shakes on the way in, shudders on the way out, and Steve’s first touch to Bucky’s skin is reverent.

Whatever’s going through Steve’s mind, it’s slowed him down. Bucky’s not complaining, not when gentle hands smooth over his skin, unerringly finding all the cuts and bruises up Bucky’s arms, across his chest. He’s gentle, immensely so, and Bucky wants to sob, wants to beg, wants to push and see if he can get that demanding Steve to rear his head again. But, more than that, he wants to be good for Steve, so he stays still, as still as he can, with only the slightest of twitches when Steve hits a sore spot. He’s gentle enough that Bucky barely notices when he’s moving over the beginnings of a bruise, touch barely there but pressing firm as soon as he’s passed it, moved into safer territory.

He barely twitches when Steve kneels, just stares down at him with eyes half-closed, and Steve has his head tiled back up at him. He licks his lips, and Steve’s eyes follow the movement, trace down Bucky’s body to what’s right in front of him. He leans forward, kisses Bucky’s stomach, then a soapy hand is curling around his cock. Bucky’s so relaxed he barely reacts, but his cock jumps in Steve’s grip, making the witch snort out a laugh.

Steve strokes again but it’s business-like, a cursory stroke to get soap spread around before his hand slides down. Bucky twitches again, full body this time, and Steve smiles, gently cups his balls before sliding his hands down Bucky’s thighs.

A pause to collect more soap and Bucky takes it as a breather, trying to get his head on straight and plot his revenge, but then Steve’s hands are back on his skin and thoughts are again too far out of reach.

He’s still slow, methodical, caressing skin and bone, and it’s not until Steve’s coaxing Bucky’s foot up onto his knee that Bucky shudders, finally lets go of what he wants, focuses on what he’s getting. “There you go,” Bucky hears from by his feet, but he just smiles, wiggles his toes and luxuriates in the attention he’s getting. He moves where Steve places him, gets his other foot washed down before turning under Steve’s gentle urges. Hands sweep up the back of his legs, a little faster but still thorough.

Another pause for more soap, then Steve’s hands are on his ass, kneading, firm enough that Bucky’s head falls forward, lightly hitting the shower wall as he sighs. Steve pays more attention to his ass than Bucky expects, but he doesn’t even think to complain, just leans forward a little more and sticks his ass out a little further, pointedly.

Steve snorts, but his fingers go tight, spread Bucky’s ass before Steve’s thumb slides up his crack, the tingle of soap following. Bucky can’t help it, can’t help the shaky little noise that escapes him, and when Steve traces that path again a little more firmly that noise turns into a moan.

Much to Bucky’s disappointment, he doesn’t linger. There’s movement behind him, then heat against his back as Steve stands, crowds in close. Hands stroking up his spine, thumbs firm as they press in, and Bucky shivers, almost shakes apart under Steve’s ministrations. Steve’s thumb catches a knot of muscle and he pauses, returns, goes back to rub that spot a little harder. Bucky shudders, pressing back against Steve’s touch, tension curling up and up his spine until his muscles give way and relax. He sags, and Steve laughs low, a promise if ever Bucky’s heard one.

Thumbs keep inching up, rubbing in circles, digging harder until it’s a full-on massage across Bucky’s shoulders. He focuses in on the right shoulder, works his way through the muscle groups until Bucky’s relaxing even further, sex forgotten for the moment in the face of the immediate relief that is Steve’s hands on his skin.

Up the back of his neck, rubbing hard, then gentle over the scars littering his left shoulder, thumb lightly rubbing along the very edge of the metal plating, right where it’s most sensitive. The touch sends heat running through him unbidden and Bucky groans, head falling backwards.

Steve’s there, then, arms looping around Bucky’s waist and pulling him back against the firm body behind him. A step back, pulling Bucky with him, and there’s water sluicing over him, rinsing off all the suds that haven’t made their way down his skin to the floor by themselves. Bucky can’t help it, shifts his hips until he feels the tell-tale press of a cock against him then rubs back, gives Steve some pressure. A groan in his ear, so he does it again and Steve’s hands drop to his hips, grab on tight.

He gets turned, Steve pushing at his hip until he gets his back to the spray, then Steve’s pulling his head forward with a gentle hand, bending him just a little.

A rattle, then the pressure of the water increases and Bucky has to glance back, realises Steve’s grabbed the showerhead and is holding it just above Bucky’s skin. It inches down, pausing at the top of his ass as if to say _last chance to say no_ before there’s a hand on his ass cheek, pulling him open just a little. Water beats against his skin making him jump, twitch, moan against Steve’s shoulder as his hips twitch, looking for something, _anything_ to rub against.

It’s over too soon, showerhead aimed at his legs, chasing the last of the soap down to the floor. Bucky shifts his head, presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder, bites down on the spot firmly when Steve doesn’t react. “Please,” he says when Steve jumps, moving until he’s pressed against Steve from head to toe.

Steve reaches up, sets the showerhead back going by the sound of metal against metal, then there are two hands on his hips, nudging him back. “Want your hair washed?” Steve asks, and he sounds completely unaffected.

Bucky shifts until Steve’s cock jabs against his hip and says, “No. Just gonna get dirty again.”

Steve snorts, nudging Bucky back until there’s cool tile against his skin and he sighs happily. He gets less happy when Steve lets go of him, but then Steve’s soaping his hands, running them over himself, and Bucky’s nearly drooling. Steve is thorough but doesn’t linger, yet Bucky’s staring like he’s playing it up for his audience. There’s the shadow of a bruise over Steve’s hip and Bucky frowns when he sees it. Steve clicks his tongue, slides his hands down further in an effort to distract Bucky and it almost works.

“I’m fine,” Steve says, and that does get Bucky’s eyes pulling up. There’s a smile touching the corners of Steve’s lips. “It’s just a bruise. Promise.”

Bucky huffs but Steve doesn’t give him a chance to reply, drops a soapy hand down and Bucky’s eyes follow, unbidden, to the curve of Steve’s cock.

As soon as Steve’s reaching up for the showerhead again Bucky’s getting his hands on Steve’s hips, pulling him in. Steve goes, tilts the showerhead so water runs between them, then keeps walking through it to press Bucky to the shower wall.

Bucky lifts his head, demanding, and Steve’s finally on the same page, lips covering Bucky’s almost immediately. Steve growls a little into his mouth when Bucky reaches around and grabs his ass, making Bucky laugh in utter delight. When Steve pulls back just enough to raise an eyebrow at him Bucky growls back, soft and playful, then squeezes Steve’s ass again for good measure.

Steve laughs, kisses him again quick, then pulls back, leaving Bucky bereft. He follows when Steve beckons, slides back into Steve’s arms as the witch steps out of the shower. He reaches back to turn the tap off before closing the glass door, leaning into Steve.

There’s a towel wrapped around him, slowly starting to rub him down, and Bucky smiles as he steadies himself on Steve’s shoulders.

“Steve,” he says when Steve doesn’t speak, digs his thumbs a little into Steve’s shoulders and rubs. When Steve’s breath hitches he does it again, smiling as Steve gives him a serious look. “Bed,” he says, _growls_ , and Steve abandons the towel to the bathroom floor and grabs at Bucky’s waist.

He finds himself lifted, hoisted into the air like he weighs nothing. He latches onto Steve with a yelp, legs wrapping secure around his waist, and Steve just laughs in his ear as he walks through to the bedroom. He’s set on the bed carefully, then Steve’s kissing him, reeling him in and pressing into his mouth. As soon as it starts it ends, Steve trailing off to press gentle kisses over his face.

He drops to his knees at Bucky’s feet and Bucky can’t help it, cups his face and breathes out slowly, lets the want and need settle until it’s simmering under his skin, warm and present but manageable.

There’s a hand on his chest nudging him backwards. He falls, trusts himself to fall, knows Steve won’t lead him wrong.

There’s nothing below him but the soft comforter and Bucky pushes himself up onto his elbows, looking down at Steve with a dry mouth.

“What do you want?” Steve asks on a breath. The mood’s shifted again, Steve’s gone from pushy back to how he was earlier, supplicant and waiting for Bucky to give him something, _anything_.

There’s the answer Steve wants, and the answer that’s sitting on the tip of Bucky’s tongue. He breathes it out like a benediction, his one plea to the universe and to any higher power that might lend their ear. “You, everything, _everything_. Anything you want to give me.”

Steve’s still, staring at him like he’s some long-lost treasure, and Bucky takes a shaky breath then holds out his hand. “Please,” he whispers. Steve takes it immediately, pushes to his feet. A knee dips the edge of the bed as a hand slides up his stomach and Bucky smiles, small and shaky, as Steve uses their joined hands to pin Bucky’s hand to the bed. The warmth Steve’s giving off is enough to make him shiver in a reaction that has nothing to do with heat and everything to do with _want_.

“You’ve got me,” Steve says on a breath, “For as long as you want me.”

“Forever.” It’s out of Bucky’s mouth before he can think, and he doesn’t even have time to register how that comment might sound to anyone that’s not a wolf before Steve’s shoving forward, pressing their lips together in a kiss hard enough to bruise. Bucky’s wolf is demanding more and Bucky threads his fingers through Steve’s hair, fine silk strands sliding through the joints of his fingers without a problem.

He uses his grip to drag Steve closer and Steve goes without protest, deepening the kiss as their chests press together, skin to skin.

He’s bigger than he was in Bucky’s dreams, bulkier, heavier, and the way he weighs Bucky down is _perfect_. Bucky shifts his hips, hooks his legs over Steve’s thighs, and arches up into it just to feel Steve’s bulk pressing him back down again.

Steve pulls back a fraction, resisting the insistent tug of Bucky’s hand to say, “This okay?”

Bucky tilts his chin up, begging without words. “Yes,” he says before giving in, “Please. Keep going.”

“I had a dream about you,” Steve says, admits into the space between them. His lips press to Bucky’s again but they don’t part, instead drifting down to Bucky’s chin, lower to his throat. Bucky prompts him with a noise, throaty and raw. Steve nips at his pulse and he shivers, and when Steve returns with more force he can’t help the noise that escapes him, the sharp moan that drags out with every inch of skin Steve licks or kisses.

“I had a dream, and I remember the one thing I didn’t do was the one thing I’ve been wanting to do since I laid eyes on you.” It takes him a minute to elaborate, and it’s a minute of wet kisses trailing down his throat until Bucky’s arching up again, this time to get any skin he can under Steve’s mouth. His words are touching memories Bucky can’t hold onto just now, ones that slide out of his grip as soon as he reaches for them. Steve will bring them back, he knows.

Steve’s hand presses Bucky’s harder into the mattress in a silent command before letting go, dragging fingers up Bucky’s arm and sending shivers over his skin. Bucky curls his fingers, trying to keep the fading warmth of Steve’s hand for just a little longer, but keeps it where Steve left it. “Ever since I saw you,” Steve whispers against his skin. “I’ve wanted my mouth on you. Everywhere.”

Bucky shivers again and lifts his hips, arching his back up in a silent plea. There’s a hand on his hips, quick, pressing him back down, and it lights Bucky up in ways that it probably shouldn’t. He makes a noise and Steve goes still for a second before saying, “You like that.”

Bucky nods once, and Steve grins against his skin. Fingers tighten on his hips, hold a little tighter, then there are teeth dragging over his collarbone, a mouth snaking its way down.

Steve’s on a mission and it’s clear, he tongues at Bucky’s nipples, nips at them one after the other, but continues on, slowly making his way down. Teeth scrape over his ribs and Bucky shivers, hips jerking in Steve’s hold. Steve pauses, does it again, hums like he’s cataloguing the reaction when Bucky jumps, moans, shaky.

He keeps going until his chin is resting on the fuzz of Bucky’s treasure trail, just above Bucky’s cock, and he shifts his hips, trying to get some sort of pressure, _any_ sort of pressure. It’s clouding his head, the pleasure Steve’s wrung out of him already, making him tremble and moan like it’s his first time.

Steve licks at the divot of his belly button, grins with a flash of teeth when Bucky lifts his head to look down at him. “Can I?” Steve asks, dropping his head a little lower and scraping his teeth over a patch of skin somewhere south of Bucky’s bellybutton. It sends a shiver through him, and he nods jerkily, pushes himself up on one elbow to look down at Steve.

He immediately hits the mattress again when Steve licks a stripe up the underside of his cock, trailing the vein that’s there. Steve’s tongue does something tricky at the top, curling in against the slit of his cock and Bucky shudders, head tipping back. He reaches down, and his hand meets hair, Steve pushing up into his grip and silently encouraging him before sucking lightly on the tip of Bucky’s cock.

One hand digs into Bucky’s hip and he relishes the contact, the way Steve holds him like he knows he’s not going to break, grips him tight and lets Bucky hang on for dear life. Steve moans softly against Bucky’s skin then uses a delicate grip to stand Bucky’s cock up, sinks his mouth down on it and tearing a sob out of Bucky’s chest.

Steve’s mouth is hot, wet, tight as he sucks Bucky down.

There’s no finesse to it, not at first. Just heat, pressure, and Steve trying to get as much as possible in his mouth. Bucky can't make words, can't even think, just tries to keep his hips still and tries not to pull at Steve's hair. He fails at both, hand going tight, clutching at Steve's hair, then grips the back of Steve's head until he's cradling the curve of it.

Steve hums, pleased with himself, and presses his thumbs firmly into Bucky's hips to hold him still. Bucky pushes up against that grip, twists his hips, but Steve holds him firm. That has him groaning, a soft noise that escapes without his permission. Steve just hums back and that has Bucky shuddering, making the same noise again, louder.

Steve licks the underside as he pulls up slowly, grins wide with the head of Bucky's cock against his lower lip, and Bucky doesn't know when he'd looked down again but Steve is clearly out to make him pay for that decision.

"Hey," Steve says, and Bucky groans rather than answering. He's not sure he'd get words out anyways. "Tell me if I do anything you don't like." Steve’s lips are brushing over the head of Bucky’s cock as he speaks, teasing little touches that send shivers down Bucky’s spine.

That spurs what few brain cells Bucky has left in his brain and he scrunches his fingers, pulls at Steve's hair until that tempting mouth is nowhere near Bucky's cock. "Anything," he says, honest. "Anything you do, I'll like." His voice is shot to shit, scratchy and burning his throat, and Steve's laugh matches, has heat curling in Bucky's gut all over again, has him whining in the back of his throat.

"That's sweet," Steve says, and Bucky's not sure why he's still talking. Not sure what's stopping him from getting his mouth back on Bucky's cock. "But I need a little more than that. I've never, uh..."

He trails off, cockiness starting to fade as Bucky stays silent, staring at the beautiful man between his legs. "Never," he repeats, "You? Never?"

"Not with a man," Steve says, voice steady even as a flush crawls up his cheeks and makes itself at home. "I've thought about it, though."

Bucky sits up, pulls at Steve's hair until the man's pushing himself upright, protesting, "Bucky, I'm not saying we need to stop, I'm just-"

Bucky cuts him off with a kiss, gets teeth against his tongue in a not-sexy-at-all-way as a result, but he shifts his head and Steve gets with the plan. He pushes up into it, despite everything, and Bucky feels himself giving in. He relaxes, lets Steve take over, and Steve slowly pushes him back.

As he falls, Steve catches his lower lip, lets it go, and stays where he is as Bucky's back hits the mattress again.

"Okay," Bucky says after he's swallowed a couple of times, struggling to make his voice work. “I liked what you were doing,” he says, and it’s shaky but honest. “With your hands on my-”

Steve’s thumbs dig into his hips a little bit as he pushes Bucky’s hips down into the mattress and Bucky’s head tips back. Steve drops a kiss to Bucky’s inner thigh and he can feel the smile pressed into his skin. “Like that?”

“Mmmm.” Bucky can’t get words out for a second, licks his lips and says, “I like your tongue.” When words fail him Bucky lifts a hand and Steve lets him, shifts his head as Bucky reaches down. The press of his own fingers is familiar, but Steve’s breath on his cock isn’t, and it keeps the thrum of anticipation under his skin. He grips his own cock tight, strokes from base to tip because he can’t help himself, moans shakily as Steve’s tongue follows his hand up.

It takes him a second to remember what he was doing, but he rubs his thumb just under the head of his cock, shifts in Steve’s grip. He can’t help the way his breath hitches, and when Steve presses a kiss to the back of his thumb, he moves it.

Wet heat as Steve sucks the head of his cock back into his mouth, up to where Bucky’s hand is loosely cupped. Then Steve’s tongue presses in where Bucky’s thumb had been, and the moan that escapes Bucky is loud, shaken. He slides deeper, nudging Bucky’s hand out of the way, and Bucky threads his hand in Steve’s hair, just holds on.

Steve’s got the enthusiasm of someone who’s just discovered that they _really_ like sucking cock, and Bucky’s just along for the ride. He works his way down, fits most of Bucky’s cock in his mouth, and Bucky grabs at his hair, pulls him up with a broken moan.

“If you- I’m gonna-” is all he gets out, but Steve grins, smug, and his lips are red, _so red_ , that it’s making Bucky struggle to let go.

Steve sets his teeth against the muscle of Bucky’s thigh and he groans, shakes under Steve’s grip. His leg gets nudged and he lifts it, not realising what’s happening until his thighs are splayed wide over Steve’s shoulders and that wicked mouth is trailing down.

“This okay?” is murmured against his skin and Bucky jerks his head in a nod, realises Steve can’t see him properly, then makes a noise that resembles a _yes_.

The hands slide off his hips and Bucky mourns them for all of two seconds before they’re grabbing the meat of his ass, squeezing before spreading his cheeks.

There’s a warm breath, and that’s the only warning Bucky gets, Steve groaning quietly before pressing the flat of his tongue to Bucky’s hole. He laps once, from Bucky’s hole up to his balls, and Bucky clenches his hand in Steve’s hair, fights out a “Please.”

Steve hums in response, licks in again, tight, and by the time Bucky’s loose enough, wet enough for a finger to slide in, Bucky’s lost his sense of time, or everything but the heat of Steve’s body.

Steve licks his tongue in around his finger, then pulls back long enough for Bucky to whine, flex his hips in silent demand. “Lube,” Steve says, blunt, hoarse. “C’mon baby, where is it?”

Bucky blinks up at the ceiling, swallowing as he tries to make his mouth work, assuming he can work out what Steve’s actually asking through the buzzing in his ears. Steve’s finger slides in deep, twists, and Bucky gasps as his hips flex up. “Lube,” Steve says again, and _oh_.

Bucky forces his hand to unclench from the coverlet and points somewhere near the nightstand. “Top drawer,” he gets out, and Steve presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh. Then he’s moving away and Bucky grumbles under his breath, misses the heat of Steve’s body against him.

Steve grabs at the nightstand, shifting to kneel over Bucky and he can’t help himself. He pushes up on an elbow, one hand sliding over the warm skin of Steve’s hip, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Steve’s chest. There’s a clatter as something plastic falls out of Steve’s hand, making Bucky smile and do it again.

“Shit,” Steve says in a rush of air. Bucky hums back, pleased. Magic curls around them, flickering at the corners of Bucky’s eyes as a hand ends up in his hair, tugging insistently. Bucky pays it no mind, or, does his best to with every tug sending a bolt of heat through him.

Steve pulls his body back and Bucky lifts his eyes to see Steve’s face closer than expected, then Steve’s mouth is pressing at his again. Bucky’s lips part and Steve shoves forward; it’s heady knowing how much Steve wants him, that Steve’s as affected by him as Bucky is by Steve.

He wants more, wants to never need anything else.

Steve moves down his body after one more kiss, teeth dragging against Bucky’s lower lip, over his chin. Bucky grabs at his hair, tugs, feels the way Steve’s groan rips up his throat, vibrates against his skin.

The lube cap clicks, a distinctive sound in the room, then a wet finger nudges against his hole, slides in deep as Bucky tugs at his hair again. Teeth sink into his hip as Steve’s finger slides out and a second one joins it on the way in, pushing a groan out of Bucky’s chest. There’s no burn - Steve’s mouth had done plenty to ensure that it went in smoothly.

Steve twists his fingers and Bucky’s hips twitch up before he’s even processed the movement, a whine escaping at the light brush over his prostate. Steve’s free hand drops to his hip, presses hard, and his fingers curl up, leaving Bucky whining again, fine tremors running through him as Steve doesn’t let up. He rubs again, and again, unrelenting, a hot mouth against his thigh, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin. Bucky shudders out a groan. Heat, tension at the base of his spine, and _it’s too soon_ , too _much_ , too _fast_.

“That’s it,” he hears whispered against his skin, pleased little hum coming from Steve, and Bucky drops a hand, all but flails it around until his fingers connect with Steve’s arm, curl around Steve’s wrist. Steve stops moving immediately, says, “You okay baby?”

Bucky groans as the curling heat in his gut starts to fade, takes a breath, then another. “You were gonna make me come,” he gets out, voice barely more than a whine. He’s not proud of it.

Steve’s laugh is low, then he says, “Isn’t that the point?” as he twists his fingers, scissors them once. Bucky tightens his hand on Steve’s wrist, the whir of plates reminding him not to squeeze too hard.

“Steve,” he says, breathy. “I want – not ‘til you’re in me.”

Steve’s face heats, Bucky can feel it against his skin. He lifts his head to watch the flush travel further down Steve’s face, to watch the way his eyes widen a little, already dark with the same lust crawling through Bucky. “Please,” he says when Steve is silent for a moment.

“One more finger,” Steve bargains, and Bucky’s pleased to he’s just as affected as Bucky feels. “One more then I’ll give you what you want.”

Bucky arches his back, lets his head fall to the pillow again. “Hurry up then,” he says, knowing damned well it sounds like a plea rather than a command.

Steve obeys anyway, sucks hard against the soft skin of Bucky’s inner thigh like he wants to leave a mark and scissors his fingers again. He pulls back, then a moment later three fingers are nudging at Bucky’s hole and inching their way in.

It's a stretch this time, and Bucky clutches at Steve's hair. Steve muscles one of Bucky's legs over his shoulder, licks up the underside of his cock, and Bucky can't help the shudder running through him. "If you do that," he bites out, and Steve seems to understand when he runs out of steam, moves his mouth to the crease of Bucky's hip and bites a little, just enough to sting.

The faint burn fades into a stretch, and Bucky nudges his heel against Steve's shoulder in silent demand. Steve thrusts his fingers in a little deeper, then pulls them back and slides them in all the way in one smooth stroke. "There you go," he murmurs, and Bucky barely hears it over the crackle of magic that's building up around them.

He opens his eyes, blinks up at the flickering colours, makes a pleased noise deep in his chest when Steve wiggles his fingers a little, nudges his thumb against his perineum as he draws his fingers back, nudges forward, keeps working Bucky over, stretching him out.

"Steve," he says, breathless and quiet. "Steve. Is that-" His voice cuts off at a curl of Steve's fingers, his back arches, both trying to shift Steve's fingers just a little to the left and keep those fingers away from where he knows he's sensitive.

Steve looks up at him, he can feel Steve's eyes on him even without looking. There's a hum from somewhere near his hip, sounding pleased. "I can't help it," Steve says, but he doesn't sound apologetic, doesn't look it when Bucky drags his head up, looks down. "It's what happens when something loosens my grip on my magic."

Bucky's not worried, even if he had room in his head to consider it in the first place. He lifts one hand, keeps the other tight in Steve's hair, drags his fingers through the swirls of colour that spark and fade when he gets close. He's distracted for a second, and that's the second Steve curls his fingers up, drags the tips over Bucky's prostate, sending a jolt of heat through him that has his fist clenching, dropping to the bedsheets to cling.

They slide out immediately after, and Bucky whines high in his throat, looks down only to see Steve moving towards him. His leg hits the mattress, and the bed shifts under Steve's weight, steadies as Steve pauses to kiss a trail up his ribs, but Bucky tugs at his hair, empty and wanting.

"Please," he says, swallows, gets out, "I want you," before his voice fails him again. He breathes in, sharp and jagged, when Steve bites at his pec, leaves crescent marks in his skin. Before he can say anything, Steve's mouth is on his, pushing his head back into the mattress with the force of it. A hand frames his cheek, tilts his head a little, and Bucky lets Steve move him, gives himself over to Steve, to his mate, to the love that's been building up inside him ever since he looked Steve in the eye and offered his hand, offered his trust.

Squeezing his knees against Steve's hips, Bucky pushes back into the kiss, bites at Steve's lip when he pulls back to pull in a breath.

Steve's cock presses into Bucky's hip as his mate finally presses them together fully. Bucky arches up into it just to feel Steve push him back down again, drags one hand down Steve's back and digs his fingers into the meat of Steve's ass. The noise Steve makes is worth it, a soft little groan that sounds hollow like it's been pulled out of him without warning.

"Buck," he says against his cheek, and Bucky tips his head up, kisses his chin. "How do you want this?" Steve says, and Bucky's about to say _with less talking, more doing_ until it sinks in that Steve's not asking because he's teasing.

He hooks his heels over Steve's ass, licks his lips, and smooths his hands down over Steve's shoulders. It takes him a couple of breaths, but he sounds more in control when he says, "Like this, I want to see you."

"Condom?" Steve asks, and his wolf grumbles at the thought.

"Not unless you want it."

Steve nods, lips brushing Bucky's cheek as he does, then he's pushing up on his hands. The move shoves their hips together even more, dragging a groan out of Bucky. He wiggles his hips, as much as he can with them pinned, and Steve grabs his hip with one hand. Lube smears over his skin but Steve's grip is solid, holding him still. Steve shoves once, pushes his hips down, then lets go to grab at the lube, somewhere in the blankets. Bucky's tempted, so tempted to push Steve, see how far he can get. But he wants Steve more than he wants that, knows the retribution will mean he has to wait longer for what he - they both - want.

So, he stays still, bites his lip as Steve sits back, gets lube in his hand. His hips twitch up as the backs of Steve's knuckles brush over his cock, but Steve's eyes shutter closed in the same moment and Bucky's too caught up in watching the way Steve's face opens up, the way pleasure crowds out everything else for a moment.

Bucky can't help it, lifts a hand and presses his fingers to Steve's face, and Steve's eyes flicker open immediately, dark and hungry. His smile is soft, in direct conflict with that, and he’s gentle, so gentle as he drops his head for a kiss.

His cock nudges against Bucky’s hole, knuckles brushing against Bucky’s thigh as he lines himself up. Bucky whines into the kiss, spreads his knees a little, and Steve slides in.

It’s a stretch - there’s no escaping that, three fingers nowhere near enough. Bucky’s head falls back, limp as the drag of Steve’s cock fills him slow and steady. Steve’s quiet above him until he’s not, a groan clawing it’s way up Steve’s throat and crawling out whether Steve had wanted it to or not.

Steve stills and Bucky’s hips hitch up, instinct driving him as the burn fades to a stretch, as the stretch fades into warm, heavy fullness. One of Steve’s hands is back on his hip, thumb pressing tight in on his hipbone, holding him down in a way that’s not helping in the slightest, just adds another layer to what’s shoving Bucky right to the edge already.

“Baby,” Steve groans, and there are sparks flickering around them, reds and blues fading into each other, curling around them and making Steve look almost unreal.

Steve sinks a little deeper, proving just how real he is, and Bucky can’t help the whine that escapes him, wanting more, harder, _now_. “Please,” he says instead of moving, not that he’s sure he could even if he’d wanted to. “ _Please_ ,” and Steve must lose his grip on his control because he’s shoving forward that last little bit, and they meet hip to hip. Bucky’s full, so full, and his wolf is howling in primal satisfaction. Even that turns breathy as Steve lowers himself down, plants a hand by Bucky’s head, and draws back, fucks back in hard and smooth.

“That what you want?” Steve growls, words punctuated with deep thrusts. “Hmm?”

Bucky hooks his heels back over Steve’s hips from where they’ve fallen aside, latches on and moans as the motion changes the angle, sends Steve’s thrusts straight up against his prostate. A jolt runs through him and he groans when each successive thrust doesn’t let it fade, keeps it building up, and up, and up.

Steve lowers himself a little more until their chests are brushing together, his stomach rubbing up on Bucky’s cock with every movement of their bodies. “Look at you,” Steve says in a rumble, and Bucky’s head falls back, chin coming up. “You want something?” Steve says, deep and teasing, but his mouth presses to Bucky’s throat, sucks a mark. It’s good, it’s so good, yet instinct drives Bucky to drop his chin, tilt his head, get his teeth up against Steve’s throat, over soft skin.

Steve’s moan just eggs him on and he bites down, the tang of rust on his tongue as he goes deep, enough that the mark will last a few days even with Steve’s healing.

“Mine,” Steve says, and the feel of Steve’s teeth in his skin is too much, sends him flying as he comes harder than he ever has.

He’s aware of Steve’s shaky moan, tremors shaking their way through his muscles as his knees tighten up on Steve’s hips, as he clenches around Steve’s cock. Bucky forces his eyes open as he feels Steve’s thrusts stutter, gets to watch Steve fall apart over him – right up until Steve’s mouth is on his.

“I dreamed of you, you know,” Steve says as he runs his fingers up Bucky’s side. His words are a warm rumble against Bucky’s cheek, and he can’t help but press a kiss to Steve’s throat where he’s tucked himself in. “Like this. Well, not always, but I dreamed of you. And me. Together.”

He doesn’t sound ashamed of it, or like he’s admitting it out of some sort of obligation. It’s soft, thoughtful, and Bucky can’t help but react to it. “I know,” he responds, closes his hand over Steve’s hip. Steve had done his best to clean them up but they’re still sticky, still breathing hard as they lie together. He presses a hand to Steve’s chest, over the steady beat of his heart.

Steve makes a confused noise, and Bucky burrows a little closer, licks at a spot on Steve’s neck, salty and warm. “Did you think they were just your dreams?”

Steve’s quiet for a second, hand still against Bucky’s ribs before it continues its slow slide upwards. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t, not really,” Bucky responds. “Not until just now. But I realised it was _possible_ when you told me you sometimes…”

“Dreamwalk?” Steve prompts, and Bucky pinches his nipple lightly, making him yelp – though hopefully more at the surprise than at any amount of hurt. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I’ve had wet dreams before,” Bucky says, grinning against Steve’s throat as he _feels_ the flush take over his skin. “This was different. You were too… human. Too real. I didn’t really put everything together though, I just knew something was off.”

Steve’s hand slides off his side, drags up his back slowly to curl in his hair. Bucky can’t help but lean into it, and Steve pulls his head back just enough to look down. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Bucky can’t help but smile, tips his head to beg for a kiss. Steve gives it to him, slow and coaxing, and Bucky can’t help himself, pulls at Steve’s shoulder. Steve goes, settles his weight over Bucky again, and his next kiss is harder, demanding where the first hadn’t been, and Bucky gives himself over willingly.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve says after their breathing has slowed for the second time, sweat cooling all over again, and it shatters the quiet between them. Bucky twists his head so he can see Steve properly, gets a hand on his chest. No one can blame him, really. Not now that he’s allowed to touch, allowed to _have_.

Bucky hums instead of answering with words, rubs his thumb back and forth over a tiny scar. His fingers slide up without thinking, press against the edge of the bite mark Bucky left. His wolf preens, smug.

“Your mate,” Steve says like he’s not sure how to put it tactfully, then doesn’t try. “You have one. What does that mean for-”

“Us?” Bucky finishes, strokes his fingers up. He links them around the back of Steve’s neck and burrows a little further into Steve’s warmth.

Steve nods. “I know your mate is it for you, but what does that make this? Just a fling, something else?”

Bucky can’t help it, laughter bubbles out of him. He drops his head, pressing his forehead to Steve’s chest, that solid heartbeat keeping Bucky present. “It’s you.”

Steve flounders like he does when he’s not understanding, so Bucky pushes a little until Steve rolls onto his back. He swings a leg over Steve’s waist, strokes his hands up Steve’s chest and off until they land on the mattress by Steve’s head. Bracing him up as he leans forward.

“It’s you, it’s always been you,” he says, looking Steve in the eye. Steve’s staring, eyes wide, so Bucky kisses him soft and quick. “My wolf chose _you_.”

“But you said-” Steve starts, but Bucky cuts him off.

“I _thought-_ ”

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve says like everything’s just fallen into place, like he’s discovered the meaning of life and everything else. He cups Bucky’s cheeks and pulls him in, presses their foreheads together. “I’m _sorry_ ,” he gets out. “I’m sorry I made you think that. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Bucky lets out a noise, soft and shaky. “You’re mine,” he says instead of trying to make sense of his own jumbled thoughts. “You’re mine and I love you. I’m never letting you go, you know that right?”

"God I hope not," Steve says as he drags him in for a kiss, pausing only to murmur, “I love you, Buck,” just before their lips meet.


	11. Art by Inflomora-Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art for chapter ten!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i commissioned the amazing [inflomora-art](http://inflomora-art.tumblr.com) to do a scene from this fic - the shower scene to be specific. the result absolutely blew me away, and i can't thank them ([or rec them!!](http://inflomora-art.tumblr.com/commission)) enough!
> 
> [find a snip of the art here for your reblogging needs!](http://inflomora-art.tumblr.com/post/183398575787/bucky-lifts-his-head-demanding-and-steves)

**Author's Note:**

> subscribe to this fic if you want the updates delivered fresh to your inbox like the morning paper, and let me know what you think here, over on [tumblr](http://spacebuck.tumblr.com/), or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/spacebck)!


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